


Scylla and Charybdis

by DisraeliGears



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Hannibal and Will are in Athens, Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Slow Burn, Someone Help Will Graham, There is sex i promise, Voyeurism, an octopus has a bad day, extreme jealousy, hannibal is an asshat, maserati quattroporte
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-07-21 20:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 46,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7403773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisraeliGears/pseuds/DisraeliGears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Months after their fall from the cliff, Will and Hannibal are in Athens. Life is easy and beautiful.<br/>And then it isn't.<br/>Misery, jealousy, lust and anger take over, and hopefully no one gets killed.<br/>Hopefully.</p><p>Come visit me on Tumblr @ DisraeliGearsGoesTumblin</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Grateful Dead

Leveling his aging Leica at the spectacular view below, Will snapped a picture.  
He hadn’t been totally sold on Athens when they first arrived, but after today he was pretty sure he could handle it; it was the birthplace of democracy, after all.  
The sun was just beginning to set over the low mountains, causing the marble of the Propylaea to glow a rich orange, as if the entire structure were molten. Will was standing on the huge slippery steps leading up to the main entrance of the Acropolis, winding his camera and grinning. The hot air from the city was mixing with brisk ocean breezes blowing in from the Aegean, rustling the curls sticking out from under his now excessively sun and sweat bleached Baltimore Orioles hat. When they’d first arrived at the foot of the hill earlier that afternoon, the heat had been stifling and the wind non-existent, but Will had insisted they carry on and now, here they were, the view spectacular as Trip Advisor had foretold.  
Will took a deep breath. The evening air was glorious.  
An older English woman was stepping up the steps past where Will was standing, wobbling as she did so with her backpack and camera. She slipped as she stepped up near him, and flung out an arm, grabbing onto Will’s wrist.  
“Whoops,” Will said, taking her hand in his and allowing his camera to rest on its neck strap. He pulled her upright, smiling at her as he did so.  
“Oh, I’m sorry dear, it’s these damn steps, you know! They’ll be the death of me I swear!” she withdrew her hand politely and gave him a grateful grin in return.  
“It’s alright,” Will said, “I didn’t make it up here unscathed either.” He proffered his left leg and the visible scrape along the shin.  
The woman laughed and thanked him again before carrying on up the steps.  
She hadn’t looked at him twice, and he realized belatedly he had even removed his sunglasses to look through the camera’s viewfinder. His face was more or less uncovered, and she most certainly hadn’t recognized him.  
Of course, it wasn’t like her lack of recognition was unintentional; Will looked like a tourist. He was one, in a manner of speaking. In his multi-pocket beige cargo shorts, high top converse sneakers, faded Grateful Dead shirt and ball cap, he looked every bit an American on holiday in Greece. Which he was.  
More or less.  
Will took his glasses off his hat and replaced them over his eyes, just in case, and turned to look up the steps. The Propylaea and certainly the entire acropolis was still full of people, all leaning and bending at odd angles to take photos. There were selfie sticks galore, groups of people laughing and trying to squeeze together. There were a few lone photographers, squinting into the sun. With all the stragglers, it took Will a few extra moments to locate the figure he was seeking.  
When he saw him, a slight smile tugged at his lips. The figure was not, like everyone else, looking at the sunset. He was standing way up near the top of the steps and slightly to the side, staring into the empty space of walls on the interior of the structure itself.  
It took a few minutes of awkward clambering among groups of tourists for Will to finally reach the top step, where the figure he was approaching was still facing away from him, staring at the blank walls.  
Will knew that at that moment, if Jack Crawford were to walk up the steps of the acropolis, he wouldn’t look twice at the middle aged man who appeared to be staring off into space. In his simple black cotton t-shirt, perfectly fitted dark wash blue jeans on long graceful legs, and clubmaster sunglasses, the man was a bizarre take on the sharp, be-suited silhouette he’d cut all those years ago in Baltimore. Even his hair, now tugged back into a short messy ponytail, was vastly different from the ruthlessly curated style it had been.  
His hands were in his pockets, head tilted slightly to the side in contemplation.  
It was funny, Will thought. While Jack or even Alana maybe wouldn’t recognize him in this dressed down state, Will knew that he absolutely would. To Will, there was some common underlying shape to the pensive figure, some structure he would always be unable to hide from the world. To Will, it was like throwing a tarp over a car: the concealed shape that presented itself belied the hidden object beneath.  
In a brief flare of playfulness, Will fished through his pocket and withdrew the car keys, holding it just so it peeked between his knuckles. He approached the exposed back slowly and on silent feet. Taking a moment to slip into character, he affected a coarse accent and jabbed the key ever so lightly into the man’s spine.  
“Your money or your life, pappos.”  
All the entire production did was garner a sigh, and Hannibal shifted his weight from one leg to the other.  
“Did you get the photos you wanted?” he said, not looking back at Will, who was grinning as he pocketed the keys.  
“Really? Nothing?” Will said, ignoring Hannibal’s question. He stepped up beside him and shouldered lightly into Hannibal in a vague friendly greeting.  
“I think you’ll find I am quite difficult to sneak up on. And that you are not particularly good at sneaking.” Hannibal glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, “I didn’t give you the keys so you could extort money from people.”  
“No, you gave me the keys because they ruined the line of your fancy jeans. And because I have lots of pockets.”  
“Yes,” Hannibal gave a not so subtle dismissive look down at Will’s many-pocketed shorts, “You certainly do.” When he looked back up, Will caught the brief moment of amused crinkling at the side of Hannibal’s dark eyes, before they swept away back up to the bare stone walls.  
Will looked up at the wall, and then he too gave the other man a side-eye glance.  
“What…are we looking at?”  
Hannibal smirked.  
“We are looking at a void. Or rather, the place built to harbor something that is no longer there.”  
“I see. And why are we doing this?” Will asked.  
“These alcoves were built to hang paintings.” Hannibal ignored Will, “While the alcoves themselves have stood the ravages of time, the paintings did not. They were likely on wood, and wood does not last, certainly not in a climate like this.”  
“Paintings of what?” Will said, half expecting his question to go unanswered and steamrollered with yet more facts, as had been occurring all day.  
Hannibal looked thoughtful. “Well, considering the acropolis is dedicated to Athena, I’d imagine of the goddess in her various incarnations. But of course we will never really know. These paintings exist en potentia, doomed for eternity to have existed and to exist but never to have their nature known.”  
Will gave Hannibal a look.  
“Alluding to something, are you?”  
“Why, Will?” Hannibal smiled genuinely then, only briefly, and Will caught a glimpse of his sharp teeth before they slipped away behind his delicate lips, “What could I be alluding to?”  
Will decided to let that one slide, looking back up into the open space.  
“Only Athena? That’s a bit…monotonous.”  
“Or Poseidon, with whom she battled to become the patron deity of the city. Possibly Zeus, of course. Theseus, perhaps. Perhaps Heracles.” Hannibal seemed to think to himself again, before regarding Will plainly. “Have you ever heard of the legend of Cecrops, Will?”  
Will, who didn’t like his name being used in public despite its commonality, and certainly not by Hannibal, raised one eyebrow.  
“What do you think?” he said dryly.  
“Cecrops was the half-snake first king of Athens; his upper body that of a man, his lower half of an enormous serpent. Legend tells that he sprung from the very stones of the ancient acropolis, like a snake emerges from its den in spring. All true Athenians were said to have descended from him, their lineage as trueborn citizens indisputable. He was cthonos; born from the earth, not of man, and therefore divine in nature, as were all Athenian citizens.”  
Will snorted. “The more and more I hear about the ancient Greeks, the more I feel they needed something to do besides make up ridiculous stories.”  
“Well, they certainly exceeded at war.” Hannibal turned away from the wall then, finally facing the spectacular sunset. “Are you ready to go? I wish to purchase a tuna for dinner before the markets close.”  
“Ya, I got my photos. And it’s not like the acropolis is going anywhere.”  
“Yes, I believe the last two thousand odd years would be inclined to agree with you.” Hannibal sniffed vaguely, still surveying the city below.  
Will knew that if one were to glance at Hannibal then without any prior knowledge of the man, they might believe he was simply enjoying the view. But Will saw the truth of that relaxed, tanned visage now, as clear as anything; it was a predatory face, surveying his hunting territory like a leopard on the Serengeti. Everything from the set of his square jaw to the quick, calculating glimmer in his melted bronze eyes was that of creature of death.  
It was terrifying to behold, as much as it was exhilarating.  
Will looked away. He’d seen that face enough, and didn’t need to look to imagine it’s horrible beauty.

The walk down the steps of the acropolis was easier than the ascent, Will and Hannibal weaving through throngs of tourists as they went. Hannibal took long, purposeful strides as he always did, and Will was left ducking and weaving to keep up. He found himself smirking darkly at the thought; if that wasn’t a euphemism for their entire relationship, he didn’t know what was.  
About halfway down, Will found himself turning when he heard a woman’s delighted laugh. He caught sight of two girls, in their mid-twenties or so, trying to take a photo of themselves and the sunset. They were both strikingly gorgeous, one with blonde hair in a loose braid, the other with long wavy dark hair, blowing in the gentle breeze. They were in light, delicate summer clothes, and Will realized he was staring.  
One of the girls caught his eye, and before he could jerk his head away and pretend he hadn’t noticed them, she waved at him and smiled a wide smile.  
“Hello there!” she said in accented English, still waving, “Could you take us a picture? We cannot get a good one.”  
Will glanced around for Hannibal, and immediately felt like an idiot for doing so. He was a grown ass man, he didn’t need Hannibal’s permission to talk to strangers.  
“Ya, of course.” Will said, stepping over a large crack in the marble to join them.  
Up close, they were even prettier. The blonde one had freckles across her nose and cheeks, and the brunette’s eyes were the loveliest hazel.  
“You are from America?” the blonde girl asked, handing him her cellphone. It was in a pink and lime green case.  
“Uh,” Will immediately floundered trying to remember his current identity’s backstory, “No. Toronto. Canada. Where, uh, where are you girls from?” He raised the phone, squinting at the screen over his sunglasses.  
“We are from Hamburg. Have you been there?” the brunette was smiling at Will hugely and very sweetly, and he couldn’t help returning it, smiling so wide the tight scar tissue in his cheek pulled slightly.  
Will snapped a few pictures before replying, hoping to give them a few good ones to choose from. They were so ridiculously attractive, it was unlikely they would take a bad photo anyway.  
”No, I’ve only ever been to Berlin and that was…uh, a while ago.”  
Actually, it was five months ago. And it hadn’t exactly been a vacation; the highlight of the trip had been when Hannibal performed a tracheotomy with a fountain pen on the accountant who had tried to funnel some of Hannibal’s secreted funds. They killed him in his office in the middle of the afternoon, and after they’d gone out a window to escape detection. It had been a tiring day.  
“Hamburg is better.” The blonde one said, taking back her cell phone. Will found himself focusing on the little moles on her tanned arm as she reached, and he had to yet again wrench his eyes away.  
“Making friends, I see.”  
Will took two extremely fast steps back, looking guiltily over his shoulder at Hannibal, who was standing looking vaguely amused on a step above.  
In his own head, he treacherously tore a strip off himself.  
Why the fuck am I acting like a dog eating food off the counter?  
“Uh, ya.” Will said, trying to recover and ignore the pink flush on his cheeks, “these girls are from Hamburg.”  
"Aus Hamburg? Habt ihr Namen, Mädchen aus Hamburg?" Hannibal replied, ignoring Will and smiling that beguilingly charming smile that Will knew lured people in like sharks to chum.  
Both girls laughed, and the blonde girl replied “Ja! Das ist Lena und mein Name ist Hanna.”  
Will felt his face getting hotter, and his humiliation only grew when Hannibal nodded to him.  
“Stuart, allow me to introduce Hanna and Lena.” It was rare indeed that Hannibal addressed him using his alias, but when he did it always seemed vaguely condescending. This time…it was less vague.  
“Uh…sorry I... didn’t ask.” Will said lamely, before glowering at Hannibal’s stoic figure.  
“It’s okay! We didn’t ask you either. Hello, Stuart. What is his name?” The brunette’s eyes were glittering playfully as she glanced meaningfully at Hannibal, and Will realized he had failed yet again.  
“Oh. That’s Theo. He’s uh…”  
"Ich komme aus Essen.” Hannibal cut in smoothly, “Was führt euch nach Athen, natürlich angenommen es ist nicht das zum Narren halten von amerikanischen Touristen?"  
“Oh, we weren’t trying to make a fool of you!” The brunette, Lena, apparently took pity on Will, and gave him an apologetic grimace, “Just teasing maybe a bit.”  
Will shot Hannibal another dark look before looking back to the girls. He didn’t want to know what Hannibal had said, but he knew it was safe assuming it was probably something patently ‘Hannibal-esque.’  
“I spend all day with him, I’m used to it.” Will said. The girls were both smiling at him in genuine friendliness, and he felt his disgruntled embarrassment evaporating. They really were very pretty.  
“Would you girls, uh… like to join us for dinner?” Will asked, and grinned back.  
And then his grin froze slightly and his eidetic memory did what it did best; “It’s always nice to have an old friend for dinner.”  
Will looked over his shoulder at Hannibal again, feeling suddenly both sheepish and full of dread.  
Hannibal was just staring, face impassive if not vaguely entertained, head tilted ever so slightly. He was considering Will, like a scientist looking through Plexiglas at a rat in a maze. It was a look Will knew very well, and he still didn’t know if he should be expecting an electric shock or cheese.  
“That’s alright with you, right, Theo?”  
Hannibal inclined his head in benevolent assent. His hair, now so grey after his incarceration, fluttered in the wind where is wasn’t bound back.  
“Of course. I defer to you.”  
Will seethed quietly. This was a horrible idea, but now it was out there.  
“We don’t want to impose!” Lena said, waving her hand dismissively.  
“It’s not really an imposition. Theo is an amazing cook, and he does love putting on a production.” Will returned Hannibal’s blank expression with an overly earnest one, hoping it chafed at least a bit, “He wanted to do ceviche tonight, I believe.”  
Hannibal’s lips twisted slightly, in what could perhaps have been a smirk.  
“If I am an amazing anything, it is a chef not cook. And if we are having guests, I am more likely to make…oh, perhaps that lovely tenderloin I procured last week. It is aged to perfection now, I should think.”  
Procured being the operative word in that sentence, Will thought darkly.  
Lena and Hanna looked at each other, whispering in fast German that sounded more or less like gibberish to Will. He found himself looking back at Hannibal, who was still wearing his small crocodile’s smile…it wasn’t a fully-fledged crocodile smile yet…more of a hatchling crocodile than a full adult.  
“We would love to come for dinner, if it’s alright.” Hanna looped her arm through Lena’s, and gave both Will and Hannibal a smile so dazzling it glittered.  
“Do we have time to go back to our hotel to change? We have been out all day and we probably smell like it.” Lena laughed and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.  
Will felt Hannibal step down onto the step beside him, but he made himself not look at him. He could feel the relative warmth radiate from Hannibal’s shoulder onto his.  
“While I assure you that you smell only delightful, you have more than enough time to freshen up. We are staying at a condo near the Piraeus, you could come by around eight. That leaves more than enough time for me to get everything prepared.” Hannibal spoke with the usual smooth assurance that made it almost impossible to disagree with him, or to even consider it as a possibility.  
“Ya, that sounds okay.” Lena the brunette said, “We’ll bring wine, of course.”  
“Das wäre wunderbar.” Hannibal replied sweetly.  
“Do…you guys have a ride? We could drive you to your hotel or-“ Will looked from one girl to the other.  
“Oh, we have a rental car. We get around well, don’t worry.” Hanna scoffed mildly.  
“Uh…ok. Well…” Will began to rummage in his pockets, “I’ll write the address down so you can find it.”  
With a delicate flick of his wrist, Hannibal extended a small square of paper with the address of their condo written on it, in Hannibal’s gorgeous flowing cursive. Will had no idea where it had come from.  
“Eight o’clock.” Hannibal said, and treated the girls to a brief flash of tooth in his smile, fleeting yet so very inviting.  
“See you then!” The girls waved and turned away to descend the steps, laughing quietly and speaking to each other quietly in German.  
Will watched them go for a few moments, dumbfounded and internally cursing himself.  
“That was an inspired decision, Will.” Hannibal said conversationally.  
“No. It was stupid.” Will muttered, not looking at the other man as he too began the final descent.  
“Perhaps. But it gives me a chance to prepare a meal for someone other than you and I, which while probably not your intended purpose, I appreciate nonetheless.”  
“I don’t want to hurt them. You can’t hurt them. I just…they seemed nice, and we’re sorely lacking company, okay?” Will shot Hannibal a look.  
As he expected, Hannibal was just looking mildly amused and disinterested in Will’s explanation.  
“Hey.” Will stopped, and turned abruptly, standing on the step directly below Hannibal and in front of him, “Promise me. Don’t hurt anyone. I invited them over; they’re blameless.”  
They were standing very close together, Hannibal’s usual three or so inches over Will exaggerated to seven or eight from their relative positions. Will was looking up into his face, jaw set.  
Hannibal bent ever so slightly, so their faces were even closer.  
“I’ve no design on those young women, Will, nefarious or otherwise. Perhaps, deep in your mind, you do?” One of his pale eyebrows raised in seemingly innocent query.  
“I don’t.” Will hissed.  
Hannibal just smiled, but didn’t put any more space between them. Their faces were about ten inches apart, and Will felt what could have been breeze or could have been Hannibal’s breath ghost across his lips and cheeks.  
This was one of those moments. One of those moments they kept having, where Will realized that some…physical gesture, be it a kiss or not, was not entirely out of the question. Of course, it was out of the question for Will, and Hannibal never…did…anything, but the look on his face always made Will feel as though he was waiting. Waiting for Will to close the gap.  
Or, maybe, he wasn’t. Maybe he was just doing his best to make Will uncomfortable, which he always succeeded in doing. He certainly was now, and Will turned abruptly away down the steps, trying to hide his pink cheeks from the other man. It wouldn’t work, but it made him feel slightly more in control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Aus Hamburg? Habt ihr Namen, Mädchen aus Hamburg?": "From Hamburg? And what is your name, girls from Hamburg?"
> 
> “Ja! Das ist Lena und mein Name ist Hanna.”: "Yes! This is Lena and my name is Hanna."
> 
> "Ich komme aus Essen.”: "I'm from Essen."
> 
> “Was führt euch nach Athen, natürlich angenommen es ist nicht das zum Narren halten von amerikanischen Touristen?": "And why did you come to Athens, besides making fools of American tourists?"
> 
> “Das wäre wunderbar.”: "That would be wonderful."
> 
> Info about Cecrops: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cecrops_I


	2. It Was the Greengrocer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse at the past, and Hannibal makes a declaration.   
> Will is thrown for a loop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit late :) Had a busy day! Also: will probably post on Wednesdays too.

The drive back to their condo from the central market, right near the acropolis, was less than fifteen minutes, but the yawning silence in the car made it feel longer. Will wasn’t sure why the predominant feeling sitting in his stomach like lead was guilt. He felt guilty for inviting women over. Pretty, young, foreign women. Women who, under similar circumstances say, six years ago, would have likely swooned over Hannibal and ignored Will entirely; Hannibal was the dashing sophisticate and patriarch of the Baltimore intelligencia. Will was a frumpy psychological wreck covered in dog hair.  
Now…now, they were carefully manicured versions of themselves, tailored to float unnoticed through the sea of life. But that wasn’t all they were.  
Now, they we’re in an accord. They functioned together like a well-oiled machine, neither asking for anything the other wasn’t already ready and willing to provide. They were a balanced set of scales, sometimes teetering, but always quick to adjust back to center. They were comfortable in the place the other had set for them.  
So perhaps this guilt, Will thought, was in his apparent lack of satisfaction with this easy arrangement. Was just him and Hannibal, quietly living out their days, not enough? Why did he have to, say, tempt fate? Or tempt discord?  
And why, for the love of fuck, did he feel distinctly like he was cheating on Hannibal? Did he want to fuck those girls? Maybe. A little. It had been a long time since anyone had actually touched his cock besides himself, so that wouldn’t go unappreciated exactly. But that hadn’t been why he invited them over, and he knew he would never get up the nerve to try anything.  
But did he want to fuck Hannibal? No?  
Will glanced over at the other man, whose salt-and-pepper bangs were blowing in the gentle breeze through the open car window. His face was an easy neutral, and the angled evening light threw his remarkable bone structure into high relief. He was, as he had always been, an astonishingly beautiful creature to behold.  
Will looked away.  
He’d been attracted to a few men in his life. There had even been that one week in college where he’s sort of had a boyfriend, if ‘a guy who sucks really excellent cock’ could count as a boyfriend. Nothing had ever really come of those interests though, and he’d never been particularly attracted to any men again after he’d been a cop.  
But he wasn’t an idiot. He knew the chemistry between him and Hannibal was…loaded. Effervescent. Volatile, certainly. Probably even apocalyptic. They’d twisted and turned around each other for years like great heaving vines, and now they had reached the canopy and had branched out into something resembling livable comfort. But that basic part of them was still wrapped in and out of the other. And that certainly counted for something in this game of ‘who wants to fuck who.’  
Not to mention, Hannibal had emerged from their pool after a few rigorous laps the other day, bursting from the surface like Poseidon and slicking back his lengthening wet hair with both hands like Adonis. He’d slipped out of the pool, water trickling between his pecs and under his chest hair in little glittering rivulets, dipping and trickling over his now increasingly toned and tanned abdomen, and finally ending up presumably soaking into his practical but ultimately tight swimming briefs.  
Will’s corn flakes had fallen off his motionless spoon halfway to his mouth, and he hadn’t noticed until Hannibal walked past him with a towel around his tanned neck and said mildly, ‘You’re dripping, Will.”  
Will had responded with a quick and brash “Ya, probably because you’re walking around practically fucking naked.” But this hadn’t helped and in fact probably only hurt.  
Will was so deeply entrenched in his own head that he practically jumped out of his skin when he heard Hannibal say his name.  
“What?” Will said, trying to swallow his embarrassment, having been interrupted remembering the other man more or less in the nude.  
“I said, on the acropolis, you called me ‘pappos’.” Hannibal was smirking, as if this were a funny little tidbit he’d come across while cataloguing the day into the expansive halls of his mind palace.  
“Er, yeah. Sorry.” Will said, grimacing, “It’s Greek, it means-”  
“Grandfather, or old man. Yes, I know.”  
“Ya. Sorry. I thought it would be funny.”  
“Does my age bother you, Will? Has something occurred that has made you more acutely aware of how much older I am than you?” Hannibal wasn’t looking at Will, as he was carefully navigating through traffic, but the slight crinkling in the tanned skin beside his eyes suggested he found this discovery quite funny.  
“What? No! Jesus. And you aren’t that old, Hannibal. I didn’t mean anything by it, and you know that. So stop…trying to play psychiatrist to me. That ship has definitely sailed.” Will tried to be withering, but he knew, as always, he came across as overly defensive.  
“You turn forty in a few months, Will. Insecurity about one’s age is not unprecedented, whether it be yours or mine.”  
“Please don’t remind me.” Will muttered darkly, turning to look back out the heavily tinted window.  
“Forty is insignificant, I promise you. And did you not just invite not one but two girls over to our home for the evening, both of whom appeared to be quite a few years younger than thirty?”  
Will didn’t have to look over to know there was a teasing grin on Hannibal’s face.  
Will tried to remember the girl’s body language. While his empathy had gathered the basic signals- European tourists, students, from well-off families, well-educated – he hadn’t gleaned much more than that. It had been so long since he’d really let his skills off the leash that he’d gotten into the habit of not letting them out altogether, and having Hannibal around as a sort of source of ‘empathetic white noise’ had a sort of numbing effect on him. The eager, hungry tendrils of his brain were reaching out into other people’s lives less and less, and it was wonderful.  
Yes, Lena and Hanna had exhibited what could be called ‘attraction’ towards him. But they had towards Hannibal, as well. How could they not; the man could charm his way out of Guantanamo Bay.  
“I think they liked you, not me.” Will said quietly.  
Hannibal chuckled. “We shall see.”

 

Their condo was just near the ancient harbor of the Piraeus, in Zea Harbor, set up and back on a hill. It was the top floor penthouse, including an infinity pool, pool house, enormous glass windows, two huge bedrooms, three ludicrously appointed bathrooms, a Jacuzzi and a kitchen that had damn near brought Hannibal to tears when they’d first arrived. It was absurd in its beauty, but also remarkably cheap considering the state of the Greek economy. Not that money was an issue; Hannibal had given Will a bank card for his free use, and Will had choked on his own tongue when he’d checked the balance online. He’d never seen a number like that with a dollar sign in front of it, other than when the news was reporting some CEO for fraud and tax evasion.  
The car…well, the car hadn’t come with the penthouse.

They’d taken over the identity of a French investment tycoon in Bern, Theo Leprevost, and used it for Hannibal to navigate their way into Greece, and away from English-speaking people who might have a penchant for American news. Theo’s car had been parked in the garage of his townhouse, and Will had just stood there staring at it while Hannibal…worked…inside the house. Will had snuck into the house, taken the keys, returned and climbed into the car. He put the keys into the ignition, revved the engine and almost thrown up in abject car lust. Then he’d climbed out, popped the hood, and spent about three hours just looking and ‘oo’-ing and ‘aww’-ing appreciatively.  
The car was a Maserati Quattroporte, and Will had lusted after it ever since he’d seen it in Car and Driver last year.  
When Hannibal appeared in the doorway, Will had beamed at him like a kid on Christmas.  
“Have you seen this?” Will said, pointing at the exposed engine, “V8, twin turbo.”  
“No, I haven’t seen it.” Hannibal descended the little steps into the garage, and looked at the car appraisingly. “Do you want it?”  
Will wasn’t listening.  
“And it has all the options. Like, all of them. It’s even got the ebony and oxblood calfskin leather interior, look.” Will practically skipped over to the driver’s door and pulled it open with something like reverence.  
“Will.”  
“Hmm?” Will said, glancing at Hannibal before leaning into the car and brushing his fingers over the polished black surfaces.  
“Do you want this car, Will.”  
Will’s brows furrowed, and he leaned back.  
“Of course I want this car. Everyone does, probably.”  
“Well, then it’s yours. We can take it with us.”  
Will’s eyes widened, and then widened some more.  
“Wh…really?” he said, dumbfounded.  
“Of course. Mr. Leprevost has little need of it any longer, and now that I’m assuming his identity, it makes sense I should have his car, ostentatious though it may be. Fortunately, it is black.”  
Will’s mouth hung open for only a moment, before snapping it shut. He turned half away, aware of the pink that was showing up on his cheeks. That hadn’t been the first time he’d felt…strangely affected by Hannibal and his gifts, but it had been the strongest rush of emotion to date.  
“Thank you.” Will had said, and brushed his hand along the glossy black paint, “It’s gorgeous.”  
“It is. Now, come inside. Dinner is ready, and our host is getting cold.”

 

Before the girls arrived, Will showered, trimmed and neatened his facial hair in that particular way that rendered his scar nigh invisible, and went through his closet twice before finally deciding on nice jeans and a deep red, untucked button down. He thought he looked dashing, but he knew that ‘dash’ would promptly look drab next to whatever Hannibal would be wearing.  
He ran a comb through his hair, as he always did, and gave up after a couple minutes of battle, as he always did. He popped a few ibuprofen to ward off the imminent tension headache.  
Hannibal wouldn’t kill these girls. They were visitors, invited over to have dinner and drink wine. While he may do many bizarre things, Will was pretty certain Hannibal wouldn’t kill an invited guest. Wasn’t there some rule about that? Once you invited someone in, they were under your protection? Hannibal had certainly killed uninvited guests in his home (no, no, NO, he wouldn’t think about Beverly), but…probably not invited ones? That Will had heard of?  
No, he had, Will realized. Abigail had certainly been invited.  
Will screwed up his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest.  
Oh god. He probably had invited them to their doom.

Will slipped out of his room and approached the kitchen on sock feet. He stuck his head in, and felt himself relax even though nothing about the situation had changed.  
It was so familiar. Hannibal was in dark slacks, a pale blue shirt with lovely a purple pinstripe in it, and a pristine white apron tied around his trim waist. His hair was clean and glossy, tied back into a little tuft, the falling strands not long enough to quite reach framing his face in the most beguiling manner possible. Over his eyes he wore a pair of simple reading glasses, which did a good job masking his memorable features but did nothing to mar his natural beauty.  
He looked so horribly similar to how he had all those years ago, and yet so incredibly different.  
As if in response to his thoughts, Hannibal turned and regarded Will over the top of his glasses.  
“You look lovely, Will.” He gestured with a knife to the little sound system in the corner, “Perhaps you could be in charge of choosing some musical accompaniment for the evening.”  
Will did as he was bid, flicking through the selection of CDs that had come with the condo. While he recognized very few of them, he found a Tom Waits album and put it on.   
Will went back over to the expansive island where Hannibal was working, cutting fresh basil and parsley into a chiffonade so quickly it was mesmerizing. Will sat on a bar stool. He knew his skills in the kitchen were mediocre at best, and Hannibal seemed more than happy to allow Will to be in impartial observer. While he never said so, of course, Will knew it was because it quietly fed the enormous ego that simmered away underneath that impenetrable exterior.  
As he usually ended up doing, Will watched Hannibal’s hands move as he deftly quartered cherry tomatoes and coined cucumber for salad, sliced and cored pears for dessert, simmered a balsamic reduction for roasting peppers and zucchini.  
“Will you tell me the temperature of the tenderloin, Will? There should be a thermometer beside the oven.” Hannibal didn’t look up from his cutting board.  
Will hesitated for a brief second, and Hannibal looked up at him.  
“Please.” He said, and looked back down to his work.  
Will went to the oven and opened it, peering inside. The warm, moist air huffed out, smelling of mouthwatering rosemary and grainy mustard. Will grabbed the little thermometer and stuck it into the meat.  
“140 Fahrenheit.” Will said, withdrawing and closing the oven. The steam was promptly cut off, but the smell wafted.  
“Ah. Getting close. Thank you, Will.” Hannibal was at the stove when Will returned to his stool, stirring two little saucepans at once.  
With his back turned, the muscles in his shoulders shifted and slid over and along one another, his shoulder blades peaking and disappearing under the rich fabric. Will looked away, back at the glowing oven.  
“So…the Hungarian greengrocer? Or that Austrian woman who called me a cocksmoker?”  
Hannibal didn’t turn. “Does it matter?”  
Will found himself huffing a laugh. “No. I guess not.”  
They said nothing for another few minutes, with only sound of Tom Waits and the sound of Hannibal reducing something to break the silence.  
“Hannibal.” Will said, quietly.  
“Yes, Will?”  
“I didn’t…mean anything by it. Inviting these girls over. I don’t…I don’t want to screw up this…accord we have. It’s nice, and I just thought we could use some…variety, I guess.”  
Hannibal did stop stirring then. He appeared to think for a second or two, before removing both little pans from the heat and setting them on the granite countertop beside the stove. He turned around, wiping his hands on a cloth, and then leaned on the counter with both hands. He examined Will, now at close enough range to do so through his glasses.  
“Describe this perceived accord to me, Will. I’m interested to hear your thoughts.”  
Will was taken aback, but he decided to continue nonetheless. It had taken no small amount of courage to get this far.  
“Well, we’ve just been sort of leaving each other alone, letting them do what they will. And… I like it. It’s nice. It’s comfortable.”  
Hannibal seemed to relax slightly. Will hadn’t noticed the tension in him until it was melting away.  
“Yes. It is.” Hannibal folded the cloth in his hands into a neat square, setting it down perfectly parallel to the cutting board. “So you know, Will,” Hannibal looked up at him again, “I’m perfectly happy with no variety in company at all. Your company is all I need in this world.”  
Will felt his eyebrows start to rise. An ache started in his chest and throat, as if he had swallowed sharp stones, and he felt suddenly and utterly breathless.  
“H-Hannibal.” He wheezed, realizing his voice was weak and reedy. It hurt to push the words out.  
Hannibal was smiling at him. “In all the times I imagined a life where you’d followed me through the threshold and into the world beyond, never did I imagine it quite as sublime as it is in this moment. You are a beautiful and remarkable creature, Will, and not a second goes by that I am not in awe of you.”  
“I haven’t done anything.” Will choked.   
Hannibal rounded the island and stood in front of him, still smiling.  
“No, you haven’t.” Hannibal put a gentle hand on Will’s cheek, fingers in his curls, and tilted his own head forward so their foreheads were pressed gently together. “But maybe that’s alright.”  
Will stared into Hannibal’s eyes, stormy blue into polished brass. He let out a long breath, and let his eyes close. This sensation wasn’t as new as it used to be, and it was incredibly settling.

 

The first time Will had a panic attack, it was four days after what they referred to not at all, or as simply ‘the Base Jumping Incident’.  
He’d been drowning, clawing through water that yielded him no leeway, and tumbled him and rolled him in a harsh, freezing current. He’d felt his lungs collapsing under the pressure, and he’d flailed wildly when a hand grabbed him from below and dragged him deeper still into the tar black, oily water.  
When he’d woken, he’d done so with an agonized scream, thrashing, panting and sweating. His sleep and drug addled brain still felt the hand dragging him down, and Will began to claw and tear at the blankets wrapped around him, at his shoulder binding and countless bandages.  
Then, out of nowhere, Hannibal had appeared. Shirtless, bruised and heavily bandaged, but upright and looking harried. He’d grabbed Will’s wrists and pinned them to the bed, grimacing in pain as he did so. His eyes were both bruised deep purple, his face drawn and haggard.  
“Will! Look at me, please, Will.” He’d panted, looking imploringly into Will’s violently shaking face.  
Will seemed to recognize him then, because he moaned horribly. “No. No! We were supposed to…we were supposed to…no, please. No, Hannibal. I want us to die Hannibal, please, please, just let us die, please.” Will was whimpering, his breath coming out in short, sharp, rapid puffs. He wrenched away from Hannibal, who was white enough in pain and only went whiter when Will shoved him, and Will began to claw again at his wrappings.  
“Will, stop.” Hannibal said, his voice low and dangerous.  
“No, no, no, no, just let us go, please just let us go.” Will began to try to break free of his shoulder brace, and immediately he was shoved back against the bed.  
Hannibal was on top of him, laying his entire body weight on him. He was up on his elbows on either side of Will’s head, keeping his weight off the upper half of Will’s chest, and he seized his face in both hands. He pressed his forehead to Will’s, and glared into his eyes with the fury of a wildfire in a dry summer.  
“I will not let you go. I will not let you go now, or ever, Will, but I need you to focus for me. I need you to slow your breathing and match it to mine. Can you do that?”  
Will stared up at him, shaking and blinking rapidly, tears and sweat pouring down his cheeks.  
Hannibal shoved closer, pressing their noses together.  
“Listen to me. Focus, Will. Listen to me, and slow your breathing. Feel me breathe against you, and match yours to me. Slow and easy.”  
Will stared up into the rich golden brown eyes above him, bright and sincere…and he gave in. He gave in to them, and their gentle words. It didn’t matter who they belonged to, it just mattered that he did this for them.  
Not tearing his eyes away, Will began to slow his desperate gasping. He felt the gentle, calm expanding of Hannibal’s ribcage against him and let the gentle tide of their breathing carry him. He let himself feel the delicate hands caressing his skull, and the heavy body pressing him into the bed.  
“Like that, Will. Beautiful.” Hannibal was practically cooing at him, gentle and forgiving.  
It took a few minutes, but Will was finally able to match his breathing to Hannibal’s.  
Hannibal smiled down at him before withdrawing, shifting so he was sitting beside Will on the bed. He began to carefully redress Will’s shoulder, which was bleeding profusely.  
Will was suddenly aware of the pain radiating through him from several places, and he grimaced sharply.  
"Yes, I imagine it hurts. Your clavicle and scapula are broken, Will, and your shoulder was very badly dislocated, not to mention you were stabbed also in the shoulder. You will want to refrain from moving, as I also suspect there are several hairline cracks in a few vertebrae.” Hannibal carefully tucked the tail end of the cotton tensor under another layer and made to stand.  
When he turned away, Will saw the massive bruising across his back in mottled, saturated purple striations, made even more macabre by the underlying circular Verger brand. He limped slightly and held himself stiffly as he walked. It wasn’t until later that Will would learn that Hannibal had taken almost all the brunt of the fall with the exception of Will’s right shoulder, shattering thirteen ribs and adding liver contusions to his gunshot wound. He’s also given all the painkillers to Will. But again, Will didn’t find any of this out until long after their wounds were healed.

 

The door buzzer rang, shocking Will out of his reverie. He opened his eyes.  
“If you could answer the door, I would be much obliged.” Hannibal smiled, and the end of his nose bumped Will’s, causing Will’s heart to feel like it had been yanked roughly into his throat.  
Hannibal moved away, returning to the stove as if nothing had happened.

By the time he got to the door and buzzed the girls up, Will had mostly managed to gather his scattered and quite frankly utterly obliterated thoughts. What he had to recover from most, he found, was that moment where he’d wondered…what would it be like to just ever so gently brush his lips against Hannibal’s?  
Those lush, sensuous lips that formed around each word like pulled toffee. That mouth that had murmured false testaments of comfort to his fevered mind, had spewed words of poison and reckless love and anger later. That mouth that had condemned him and freed him, taunted and led him.  
Will wondered how those lips would taste. Venomous? Or sweet?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Info on the Piraeus in Athens: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Piraeus


	3. Stuart and Theo Host a Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal/'Theo' and Will/'Stuart' host a dinner for two lovely girls. Will makes a...questionable...decision.   
> As we knew it would, Hannibal's nose knows.
> 
> There's some M/F in this chapter but DON'T WORRY.

Lena and Hanna were both smiling brightly when Will let them in. They had both indeed changed and showered; Hanna was in a flowing blue blouse and a white skirt, and Lena was wearing a body hugging cotton dress with, Will found his eyes widening when he saw, more or less no back. The dress clung to her body in wonderfully revealing ways, and certainly did a superb job of revealing she was most certainly not wearing a bra. Will found himself yet again yanking his head away to stop himself staring at the beautiful soft curve of her ample breasts under the sheer, blood red material.

“We brought wine, like we promised!” Hanna said, holding out a bottle and smiling triumphantly.

Will took it, and knew that though Hannibal would take it showing all signs of joy and gratitude, a sweet Gewurztraminer would in no universe go with a tenderloin.

“This looks beautiful, thank you. It’ll go with dessert, for sure.”

Lena was already walking through the foyer where it melded into the open sunken sitting room, crossing the carpet and up onto the opposite dais, where Hannibal’s enormous black lacquer grand piano sat surrounded on two sides by huge windows.

“You play?” she asked Will over her shoulder, her long dark hair falling across her bare back.

“Hah!” Will blurted, and realized belatedly it was a bit loud and dismissive, “No. Han- _ Theo _ does.”

Will grimaced. Their aliases had gone flying out the window when the red dress had come in the door. Fortunately, neither of the girls seemed to notice.

“This place is beautiful, Stuart!” Hanna said, eyes wide as she peered through the windows. At night, the Zea harbor and the surrounding waterfront was a riot of little lights bobbing on the gentle sea.

“Thank you. In all fairness, it’s not mine. It’s Theo’s.”

“I won it in a high stakes poker game in Calcutta.” Hannibal said, appearing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Really?” Hanna said, putting her hands on her hips.

Hannibal twisted his lips.  _ Those lips _ . “No.”

Both girls laughed at this, and Will felt himself glowering slightly. Yes, both of them were certainly attracted to Hannibal.

“You play the piano, Theo?” Lena asked, lifting the fallboard up then plunking a key, the note of which resonated through the instrument and the entire room like perfume.

“I do. Though I will always prefer the harpsichord.” Hannibal gave them all a warm smile, before half turning, “I’m almost done with the hors d’oeuvres, Stuart, if you could assist me?”

Will followed Hannibal into the kitchen and placed the bottle of wine on the island. Hannibal didn’t spare it a glance, instead handing Will a different bottle of red wine and four glasses.

“Pour our guests some wine, and refrain from spilling on my rug if you could.” He said, and waited while Will juggled everything into one hand before he handed him a charcuterie board from the fridge. He turned back to a pan of smoked salmon roses.

“Uh. Okay.” Will said lamely, pausing to watch Hannibal for a second. He didn’t  _ seem  _ murderous, but…well, he didn’t, did he? That was how he got you.

When Will returned to them, both girls were sitting on the luxuriant micro suede couch, whispering to one another in German. Will tried to pretend he hadn’t heard ‘Stuart’ at least once.

“Wine, ladies?” he said loudly, carefully putting down the charcuterie before proffering glasses.

“Yes!” Lena said, taking the glasses from him, “Come, sit.” She grabbed his forearm and pulled him down onto the couch between them, before pouring the wine herself.

Will tried to ignore the fact he could feel the body heat of both women on both of his shoulders. One of them was wearing a delicate fragrance that made him want to bite the charcuterie board in half.

“So, Stuart, you are from Canada? Is it cold there? We have never been!” Hanna took her glass from Lena and beamed invitingly at Will.

“Uh…not in Toronto, no. It’s probably pretty much the same at Berlin, I guess.”

“Really? We hear it is very cold in Canada.” Hanna lifted her arm nearest Will and rested her elbow on his shoulder, leaning on him ever so slightly.

“Um.” Will swallowed, “Ya. But…not there.”

“How do you know Theo?” Lena asked. She was leaning back, not against Will, but the motion pulled her dress across her breasts and made Will’s cheeks burn.

“He technically is my portfolio manager, but he’s been my mentor in some capacity or another since I was a teenager.” Will recited the lie easily enough. Their backstory was one of the first things they had nailed down when they’d started their… _ adventure. _

“Can he make me rich?” Hanna asked, and Will found himself grinning despite himself.

Hannibal emerged from the kitchen, holding a delicate silver tray in his hands.

“Smoked salmon rosettes with wasabi mousse and a whipped ricotta filling.” He said, placing the tray on the coffee table. He gave Hanna a look as he did so.

“And in answer to your question, no, I cannot make you rich. But I certainly could make you wealthy.”

The girls laughed at this too, and Will found himself relaxing slightly.

After all, Hannibal did entertain for years in Baltimore without killing any of his guests outright.

Hannibal poured himself a glass of wine before sitting across from them in a Hermès leather armchair. He crossed his long legs gracefully and smiled across at them. Will had a sudden tsunamic wave of flashbacks to the dark office in Baltimore, sitting across from that austere figure. The eyes were the same, the posture the same, the slight smirk of benign entertainment, the same.

But things were different now, weren’t they? Hannibal,  _ this  _ Hannibal, had got what he wanted. He’d wanted a companion. And here Will was. Right? This Hannibal’s volition was less violent. But he was also harder to figure out.

Will raised an eyebrow at Hannibal infinitesimally, and this got a slightly wider smirk.

“So, you really  _ are  _ a chef.” Lena said, taking a salmon rosette. Will made himself not watch her eat it, but instead found Hannibal watching him. His golden eyes were glittering hard like glacial ice.

“The preparation and presentation of food is one of my most beloved pastimes, yes. And it is always much more enjoyable when you have an appreciative audience.”

“Why be a portfolio manager, then? And not a professional chef?” Lena tilted her head ever so slightly at Hannibal.

“Ah.” Hannibal looked at Will again with an almost inscrutable expression, before looking back to Lena and winking, “Much more fashionable hours.”

 

Dinner was on the poolside patio, and the lively conversation drifted in the lovely Aegean breeze. It went off without a hitch, and Will found the tension in him easing with every passing minute.

The girls were polite, had excellent manners without seeming overwrought, and were respectful enough to not speak German when Will was within earshot, so as not to exclude him from the conversation. Hannibal was, as ever, incredibly charming. He was  _ funny _ , and commanded the table with the same ease and surety as he did everything else in life. He told anecdotes and stories that, while Will was sure almost all were completely fabricated, nonetheless were highly enjoyable. The man was a born entertainer. Will almost expected him to break out into the Charlie Chaplin dinner-roll routine.

He also, Will noticed, watched each of the girls consume with gusto the tenderloin, delicious, moist and oozing juices. Then he glanced at Will, and there was an ever so slight twitch of delight on his stone façade.

As they were finishing dessert, and Will was pouring the Gewurztraminer, Lena levelled a comically serious look at Hannibal.

“Theo. I’m sorry, but I simply have to insist you play me something on your piano. I have not heard anyone play a real grand piano properly since I was a little girl.”

“Of course. I would love to play you something, but I’m afraid I have a few dishes I must tend to before I indulge you.”

“No, go play for her.” Will said, setting down the wine and gathering up Hanna’s plate, “I can do dishes, and besides, you clean as you cook so the mess is minimal.”

Hannibal gave Will a look.

Will returned it.

“Very well.” Hannibal said, getting smoothly to his feet, “Some Chopin, I think, would follow this meal nicely. Don’t you agree? Perhaps a Nocturne?”

The girls followed Hannibal back into the condo, leaving Will to gather dishes.

Doing dishes wasn’t something that bothered Will, and he was fast at it. Though Hannibal always preferred implements and serving ware far too delicate for a dishwasher, Will was an efficient cleaner when necessary and so they matched each other well.

As he started the water flowing into the sink, he heard Hannibal say from the other room “This is Chopin’s Nocturne number one in B flat minor Larghetto. An old favorite of mine.”

The opening bars began, and Will felt a chill go up his spine. Goosebumps arose on his skin and he let his eyes slip closed.

_ He remembered the cold cabin in the woods he had woken up in that first time.  He remembered later waking up to the sound of a piano in the next room, on an upright baby grand this time. He remembered getting gingerly and stiffly out of bed and staggering to look out of his little room. He remembered the figure at the keys, fingers drifting across them like a lover’s hands. He remembered wondering about how this strange monster coiled into human skin could produce something so heartrendingly beautiful. He remembered seeing this creature, so terrible yet so enthralled and, equally, completely enthralling. And then the monster had looked up and beamed at him in loving welcome with a face carved by cruelly talented gods, and he no longer wondered. _

With a strangled wince, Will dried his hands on a towel and abandoned the dishwashing. He slipped out the door onto the dark patio, inhaling the sweet air and trying to swallow the image that was desperately trying to leap out of his mind and into the present.

Will walked around the pool, glowing rippling blue from the underwater light, and to the quiet secluded spot on the far side of the pool house. The nook had dark pergola slats covered in mature grape vines that made a rich shadowy canopy in the hot daytime sun, and was a lovely place to sit and read while overlooking the electric blue sea.

Will sank onto the plush loveseat and leaned back against the stone wall with closed eyes.

He didn’t want to think about Hannibal like this all the time. It was maddening, having memories of bloody revenge and destruction buried under moments so achingly sweet and intimate.

‘Maddening’, of course, being a relative term.

Will let his eyes slip open, and he looked out over the blackness of the sea. The sky was cloudless, as it often was, and the moon waning from just full. The sea glittered black and white like diamonds tossed across black velvet.

He couldn’t hear the piano, and that at least was a blessing.

Will was just letting his eyes slip closed again, when he heard a noise, and when he snapped his head back up, he balked in surprise.

Lena was standing there, hands on her waist, red dress fluttering slightly.

“I thought you were supposed to be cleaning the dishes?” she said, giving him a falsely stern look.

“Oh. Yeah. But, I mean…it’s just so nice out here.” He said, and gestured at the view grandly in hopes of dispelling any suspicion.

Lena grinned and came to sit beside him. “And you are sure you are not just trying to get out of a job you don’t want to do?”

“Well,  _ you _ asked for a personal concert and yet here you are.” Will countered.

“Ah. Yes. Well. Theo is very good at the piano, it is true. But I saw you sneak out and I figured I would come see what you were doing. You looked lonely.”

Lonely, Will thought. Confused. Frustrated. Riddled with self-loathing and doubt. All of the above.

“No, not… I’m fine. I’ve just heard him play piano a lot, is all.”

Lena tilted her head slightly. Her dark hair swung like a pendulum.

“You are jealous of the attention we give him?” she said.

“No! No.” Will said, laughing awkwardly.

“Well, he  _ is  _ very sexy.” Lena said, and her accent made the word even dirtier in Will’s mind.

“Oh, yeah.” Will said darkly, “I’ve heard.”

“Of course,  _ you’re  _ very sexy too, Mr. Canadian Man.” Her lips twisted as she smirked at him naughtily.

Will blinked.

“Thanks.” He said, and he couldn’t fight a delighted grin from splitting his face in two.

“Oh, you are welcome. Hanna and I were debating which of you was more handsome on our way here.” Lena looked out over the water, affecting an air of nonchalance.

“Oh? And who won?” Will turned his body to face her, one eyebrow raised.

“Neither of us. Hanna insists that while you are as beautiful as they come, there’s still something better about a European gentleman. And she is a sucker for those big brown teddy bear eyes.” Lena gave him a look, “But I still think you are so very adorable.”

Will couldn’t help but chuckle. “Thank you. That’s very generous.”

“Speaking of generous, Stuart.” Lena said, leaning back into the loveseat and giving him an appraising look, “That was very kind and brave of you, inviting two strangers over to your house for dinner.”

“Ah, well; ‘strangers in a strange land’ and some such.” Will said.

“Mmm.” She hummed in acquiescence, “But I wanted to thank you.”

“Uh. Well. You’re welcome.” Will said, and inclined his head in a stupid mock bow.

“I wanted to thank you  _ properly _ .” Lena said, grinning mischievously. And, without much in the way of preamble, she gently held his chin still and leaned in, pressing her soft lips gently but firmly to Will’s.

Will froze. It was a pretty chaste kiss, solid but with no movement or tongue of any kind. Her lips were soft and smooth and lovely, and reminded him that he hadn’t kissed anyone in, hell, eight months?

Lena withdrew, smiling so her eyes gleamed in the moonlight. She drew her bottom lip into her mouth, and Will felt his heart shudder when she let it spring back into place from between her teeth.

Will lurched forwards, kissing her again, this time turning his head and pressing his lips to slip and slide over hers. She made a noise of surprise, but it melted away into a pleased hum as soon as Will opened his mouth and let his tongue slide past her lips.

Lena ran both hands up over his jaw into his hair, pulling him closer as she reciprocated, licking gently at his mouth before setting her teeth to his lower lip and sighing in the most arousing way Will thought he had ever heard.

Abruptly losing patience with sitting this far from her, Will slid both hands onto her warm, soft waist and tugged her into his lap, which she not only went along with, but took the opportunity to shift to straddle him and undo his shirt buttons. They kissed slowly but deeply while she exposed him, and she purred against his mouth when she had him bare, running her little hands over his chest.

Will dipped his head and began to lick and nibble at her neck, causing her to gasp quietly and clutch him to her, tilting her head so he could have better access. Will ran both hands down her waist to her thighs, on either side of his, and pulled her closer. He wasn’t sure why he was craving body contact, but heck was he ever.

She took his signal well, grinding closer and down into his increasingly interested but quite contained erection. Will groaned and buried his face into her shoulder, before promptly nosing her dress off her one shoulder and letting it slip down. The fabric caught on her one breast, not quite exposing it.

Will leaned back ever so slightly, panting, and glanced up at her. She was smirking as if his hesitation was quite funny, but she leaned back and reached across to the other shoulder to pull her dress down, the fabric falling to expose her fully. Then she grabbed him by the cheeks and drew his face up for another kiss, aggressive and delighted.

They kissed for a few seconds before Will descended down the soft column of her throat to her breasts, groaning his appreciation for them before taking one nipple into his mouth.

Lena moaned quietly and sweetly, clutching him to her chest like a saint clutching a martyr, and dipped one hand between them. It snaked past his bare, panting stomach and chest and to his belt, which she undid deftly, before employing both hands to make short work of his jeans fastenings.

Will whimpered when she took his cock in hand, gasping like a landed fish against her spit slicked breasts. He groaned and latched his lips onto her jugular when she ran one gentle little finger across the exposed head, smearing the clear fluid there as she did so. She began a gentle rhythm, tugging and brushing with her fingers, alternating between a firm grip and barely there.

Will tilted his head up, seeking blindly and finding her lips pressed against his, her mouth hot and needy. He tried to walk his fingers up under her dress but she grabbed his wrist and pulled it away.

“Not me,” she gasped against his swollen mouth, “You.”

Will dove back to her breasts, keening quietly when she scissored her index and pointer fingers across the increasingly slick head of his cock. He glanced down, and seeing her little delicate hands on his now extremely swollen dick, a hand that wasn’t his own, almost threw him over the edge.

Yes, it had been a while.

Lena withdrew suddenly, and Will was dragged into the present bizarre situation in a rude and sudden jolt.

“Wh-” he said, his breath coming in sharp puffs.

Lena just smiled as she climbed off his lap…and onto her knees in front of him, licking her lips wickedly.

“No, you don’t have to  _ fuck _ …” Will groaned as she took the dribbling head of his cock into her soft mouth, and he grabbed the cushion of the loveseat in desperation as she tongued it.

Will let his eyes slide closed, panting as the delicious wet heat of her mouth coaxed him closer to the edge. She not only sucked and licked like a pro, she took his cock to the back of her throat with no warning, causing his entire body to seize in pleasure as she did so. It took all of his willpower not to grab her by the hair and start thrusting, but he held onto the cushion beneath him as an anchor.

Will opened his eyes, looking down at her and her mouth stretched around him, her hand gripping him by the base of his cock.

But then something slipped in Will’s reality. The lips, so full and pouty and pink, changed shaped, became delicately curved and masculine, the cupid’s bow more pronounced and angular. And then Will blinked and it was Hannibal, like the devil himself, beautiful and debauched, Will’s throbbing cock in his mouth. He made eye contact with him, eyes burning like crucibles, and pulled back, his pink cat’s tongue laving the swollen head of Will’s cock, his long fingered surgeon’s hands caressing the length of it like it were his personal plaything. His mouth shifted slightly and his viciously sharp teeth slid across the delicate soft skin…

“ _ Come for me, Will.” _

…and Will came, gasping like a drowning man. He arched backwards, panting and shaking, as pleasure cascaded through him in a monsoon. He looked down, bare sweaty chest heaving, to see… Lena. She was giving him a dark smirk, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

“I’m- I’m sorry.” Will wheezed, reaching for her, “I didn’t mean to…”

She took his hand and used it to pull herself up, where she resettled onto the couch beside him.

“You worry too much, Mr. Canada.” She said, straightening her dress. Her cheeks were pink, and Will noticed that…well, she may have swallowed him down, which was a million times more than he had any right to expect, considering, but he  _ did _ notice she missed some. Will reached up and wiped her cheek with his thumb, grimacing apologetically as he did so.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t warn you, that was…that was rude of me.”

“Something tells me you haven’t had a blow job in a while, Stuart.” She said, raising one eyebrow playfully.

“Uh. No. Not in a long while.” Will said, trying to put himself away with as much dignity as he could muster.

_ That wasn’t why, was it, Will? _ Will shuddered and screwed his eyes closed.

“It’s okay; I haven’t given one in a while either,” she leaned in and pecked him on the cheek, “Now come here, let me fix your hair before we go back inside.”

Will sat there while Lena tamed his curls with her fingers, trying to ignore the choked feeling in his throat, and the image on the inside of his eyelids, of Hannibal on his knees and smiling.

 

Hannibal was playing Rite of Spring when they re-entered the condo, his tanned fingers scuttling like spiders across the keys with no trouble. Will made himself not look at them too long; it was too easy to remember them as his brain had supplied, encircling his cock.

Hanna was sitting on the couch, head rested on a pillow she was clutching, watching Hannibal with a rapt expression. She barely looked up as Lena came to sit with her.

Will stood on the top step of the sunken den, on the opposite side of the room. His heart was hammering and he felt a trepidation so intense he was sure it would be no different if he were standing in an airplane, getting ready to dive out without a parachute. He couldn’t take his eyes off Hannibal’s partially obscured profile.

Will watched in horror as those delicate nostrils flared slightly, the perfectly straight nose wrinkling across the bridge for a fraction of a second. The dancing fingers didn’t trip, but rather paused, as Hannibal’s head turned ever so slightly. He saw the whiskey gold eyes snap from the piano in front of him to the figure in the red dress, reclining on the Hermès sofa. He saw the ever so slight twitch in the lush upper lip, not enough to bare teeth but enough to hint.

In one smooth movement, Hannibal withdrew his hands from the piano, pulling down the fallboard and pivoting on the bench, facing the room at large. His gaze found Will and stabbed him through the head, pinning him like a specimen insect to particle board.

“I’m afraid I will have to cut this recital short.” Hannibal said, getting to his feet. Will’s eyebrows began to rise as he watched him undo the buttons at his wrists and begin to fold up his sleeves.

“What? No! You were playing so beautifully!” Hanna said imploringly.

“Very kind of you to say. However, I’m afraid dallying on the piano is no longer what I wish to be doing. Nor is entertaining young women.” Hannibal levelled her with a look, nasty enough to cause her to lean back slightly.

Will decided at that moment to go for broke.

“Theo is…known to get a bit cranky when he’s tired. I should have seen this coming. You guys should probably be going.” Will descended quickly into the sitting area, placing himself between the girls and Hannibal.

“What? Are you sure?” Hanna said, looking worried and confused as she got to her feet. Lena followed suit, but she was looking at Hannibal with slightly narrowed eyes.

“Oh yeah. And it’s late, anyway, and we wanted to get to the agora early tomorrow morning for the guided tour.” Will had his arms out, shepherding them while simultaneously acting as a barrier. His back was to Hannibal, and at any second he expected a linoleum knife in the kidney.

“Your friend is not the politest of hosts, Stuart.” Lena said, still giving Hannibal a dirty look.

Will chanced a glance at the figure on the piano dais. Hannibal’s head tilted slightly, in a movement so like a falcon eyeing a pigeon it made Will’s insides freeze.

“You are correct, my dear.” Hannibal said, his voice subarctic and barely audible.

Will managed to get them to the door, holding it open. He tried to disguise the waver in his voice when he told them each goodbye.

“You shouldn’t stay with someone like that, Stuart.” Lena said, ignoring the still stricken looking Hanna.

“You’re probably right.” Will said weakly. He was keeping his shaking hand hidden behind his back.

Lena went up on her tiptoes and gave him a gentle kiss, her beautiful face still severe.

“You’re too good for him.” She said.

And then the girls were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the Charlie Chaplin dinner roll dance : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4DLdMa98JdM
> 
> Chopin Nocturne Op. 9 No. 1 in B-Flat Minor Larghetto: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gfgVWyjHkCo
> 
> Stravinsky's Rite of Spring: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FFPjFjUonX8  
> ALL MADS FANS SHOULD KNOW THIS ANYWAY.


	4. Catch and Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will navigates the fallout of his bad decision.  
> He goes fishing.

Will hadn’t seen much of the monster since the night they’d killed the Great Red Dragon. It seemed as though Hannibal had caught it after its bloodbath and replaced its chains, and the monster had slithered back into its dark cave to hibernate. Only rarely, when it had become necessary on their travels, had the monster raised its head, scented the air and flexed against the chains of its severe person suit. But always it had returned to slumber. Sometimes, like when Hannibal was cooking for the two of them and Will had caught him humming ‘Hotel California’, it was easy to forget the monster existed at all.

But now, Will stood in the little foyer, and he could  _ hear  _ the slide of chains over stone, the rattle as the monster shifted and heaved. The living room was empty, but there was the sound of water running in the kitchen, and of dishes being collected.

_ Like great snakes, heaving in the dark. _

Will realized that not only were his hands shaking, his teeth were trying to chatter. Was this going to happen all over again; Will would walk into the kitchen, Hannibal would gut him and pour his heart out in despair at Will’s betrayal?

But Will knew, even if this was that evening again, the same as it had been all those years ago…he wouldn’t  _ not _ go. And he couldn’t not go now. They were bonded, twined inside each other like vines. They would always come back together, bloody or intact, dead or alive.

Will stepped into the kitchen.

Hannibal was washing dishes, his back turned. His broad shoulders shifted and Will saw within them the horrifying strength with which he could rend and tear flesh like paper.

“Hannibal.” He said, his voice choked and guttural.

Hannibal paused his washing, motionless for a second, before moving again. He wrung the cloth out and set it on the faucet, before turning to Will. Will saw the knife on the island, and tried not to fixate on it.

“I’m curious, Will.” Hannibal said, approaching the island, picking up the knife in one hand and the wood cutting board in the other, “By whose standards do you feel these dishes have been ‘done’?” His eyes fixed on Will’s. They were black as obsidian, and shined equally hard and cold.

“Hannibal, I didn’t-”

“Or, perhaps, you were busy doing something else?” Hannibal said, head tilting, “Perhaps, you were outside, making our guest welcome. Or, perhaps, Will, the reason you didn’t do the dishes or tidy the kitchen-” Hannibal slapped the cutting board into the granite counter with a resounding smack, “is because instead of giving her a tour of our lovely shared home, you were sticking your cock down her throat.”

Will’s hands clenched into fists, shaking violently.

“I don’t  _ owe _ you anything, Hannibal, I-”

“You what, Will?” Hannibal said, “You just wanted quick relief?”

“ _ No.  _ I wanted to, fuck, feel  _ something _ other than how I’ve been feeling. Christ, you have no fucking idea, do you?”

“I don’t? Have I not made it clear enough? Or are you being deliberately blind?”

Will glared at him, chest heaving. Terror and rage were buoying him up and dragging him down like a cork.

“What do you want from me, Hannibal? I’m just trying to keep my head above water.”

“An exercise in futile contradiction, I am sure, considering how intent you seemed on drowning us not so long ago.”

Will snarled at him. “Oh,  _ fuck you. _ You can’t say that now. Not after everything.”

“Yes.” Hannibal said, giving Will a nastily earnest look, “After everything. Everything that has transpired, and yet still you…” Hannibal seemed too incensed to continue, his lip twitching again to reveal his wicked teeth. Yes, the monster was out, straining against its chains, slavering for blood.

“I don’t…I don’t know what to tell you, Hannibal.” Will said, realizing suddenly how exhausted he was. He felt like the dish cloth, wrung out and hanging.

“Three years of my life, Will. For three years, I rotted in a Plexiglas museum of oddities. I, who has killed anyone that even  _ suggested _ I had a weakness possible to exploit. For three years I waited for you to come to me, and when you did, you came to me as a pathetic proxy, so falsely tamed and benign I could have killed you for it. And now I have you, finally within my reach,  _ of your own volition _ no less, and still you are willfully blind to the earth I have lain at your feet, to the only gift I have to give and give to you freely. You have put me in another prison, no care for the life that has been given to you, yet I cannot cut you out of me, for fear you will destroy me as I destroy you. You are a parasite I cannot remove, and for this you have condemned me to love you in agony.”

Will was shaking, arms rock solid at his side.

“Now,” Hannibal hissed, “I will ask you to leave, before I do something I have long desired but will much regret.”

“ _ Hannibal _ , I didn’t-”

The motion was so fast and fluid, Will didn’t have time to jump. The knife whirred through the air and struck the cherry paneling, point first, with a harsh thud. It sank an inch into the wood, vibrating, six inches to the left of Will’s head.

Will stood frozen in place, and Hannibal was motionless, poised and glaring, his eyes searing into Will’s. Will was a mouse caught in the gaze of a rattlesnake, unable to move or flee.

“ _ Go _ .”

Will went.

 

Will as shaking so hard he was hardly able to undo the buttons on his shirt, so he yanked it over his head, popping a seam. He remembered Hannibal had bought it for him in Milan, and immediately threw it away from himself like a venomous spider. He couldn’t think about it. He couldn’t think about  _ any  _ of it.

_ You have condemned me to love you in agony. _ Oh, god. Oh,  _ fuck. _

Will crawled into bed, already sweating with anxiety and terror.

Today had started so innocently. Eating bananas foster Hannibal had specially made before Will got up, speculating on what to do with the day. Hannibal had wanted to go for a drive and go to Delphi for the day with a picnic, Will wanted to go the acropolis. After some half-hearted debate over pros and cons, Hannibal conceded defeat as long as he was allowed to still prepare a picnic. Will had rolled his eyes, but agreed.

And now, Will was laying in his bed, wondering if he would live to see the morning.

He should have seen the resultant nightmare coming, considering how he fell into a fitful sleep in a state of mortification. Maybe he hadn’t fallen asleep, but had just passed out.

He dreamed of a serpent, huge and black, with rippling iridescent scales that slid over one another like plate armor. It was thick as his torso in the middle, and it circled his prone body, keeping its distance but nearing with every lap. Will watched it, body and brain too tired to get up and move away.

Suddenly, the snake darted closer, and Will saw with mounting horror that it wasn’t merely a snake, but half a snake and half a…man…

It was Hannibal, as graceful and lithe as ever, slithering closer and closer.

Like that legendary first king of Athens. What was his name?

“ _ Ha.... Hannibal.” _ Will said, his voice wispy and barely there.

Hannibal said nothing, just crept closer on his unholy chimera body.

“I’m sorry.” Will whispered, but his voice didn’t carry, “I didn’t…I didn’t know you loved me. She, she  _ told  _ me but I couldn’t believe her. I didn’t want to.”

Snake Hannibal began to circle Will, drawing him into his coils. Will brought up his knees, but was soon surrounded by the heaving black mass. He craned around, looking into Hannibal’s impassive face. In Will’s dreams, he was even more beautiful, even more terrifying. His eyes were the color of burned skin.

“Please.” Will said, and reached up. Hannibal took his hand, considered it…and began to constrict around him. Will felt his heart jerk in his chest, and he tried to struggle against the hard black scales, but all it did was draw them tighter around him.

“Please,  _ please _ .” Will babbled, still holding Hannibal’s hand. He felt his chest begin to collapse, his lungs popping like balloons.

“No, Will.” Hannibal said. And Will shattered.

Will awoke flailing, chest heaving. Sweat was  _ pouring  _ off him, binding his sheets together they were so sodden as he fought against them.

He could feel the panic rising like a tide, crushing him under its colossal weight. He was hyperventilating, he knew, and there was no way he could slow the desperate gasps.

He flung out an arm, trying to find something solid to grab onto, but found himself still ensconced in sheets. He whimpered in terror, unable to make any sound more substantial between the breaths.

Will looked around desperately with wide eyes, and…saw Hannibal.

He was standing in the doorway in just the boxer briefs he usually slept in, half occluded in shadow and moonlight. He was entirely motionless, like a Grecian statue.

Will stared at him, wheezing desperately, trying to escape his wrappings.

Hannibal moved not an inch, his face in shadow. The only evidence of his eyes were two flecks of moonlight reflected.

Yesterday night, had this had happened, Will wouldn’t have woken alone. In the dozen or so times he’d woken up in a panic stricken fit, Hannibal was already there, already pinning him down, already laying over him. His steady heartbeat and breathing guided Will back to normal like Sibyl guiding Aeneas through the Underworld.

Now, Hannibal watched.

“Ha…Ha….Hannib…” Will tried to get out the full name, but his breathing had taken everything from him.

Hannibal took one step closer until he was bathed in full moonlight. His silver hair was loose from its little ponytail, tucked behind his ears. His head was tilted slightly, considering the scene in front of him with detached predatory curiosity.

Will stared wildly, sweat pooling in the indent of his heaving, aching chest. Before tonight, he would have already been coming down, getting lost in the feeling of Hannibal’s warm body that was both firm and soft, pressing him down. Before tonight, he would have felt Hannibal’s forehead and nose pressed to his, and waded gladly into the quiet of the stream.

But that was before. Now, he was alone.

For the next fifteen minutes, Hannibal stood motionless, watching with an air of righteous vindication as Will’s blood pH finally hit the tipping point, and he slipped into unconsciousness.

  
  


Will awoke late the next morning, curled on his side. He had a crippling headache, and he felt as though all his muscles were seized. He pushed himself slowly upright, groaning as he did so.

He glanced over to the spot Hannibal had stood, now glaringly vacant. Anger and fear rippled through Will, vying with one another for the mainstage. What version of Hannibal would it be that would greet him this morning? The bitter, sardonic, snappish one from BSHCI? The furious one from last night? Or a new one entirely?

Will got shakily onto his feet. His skin was itchy with dried sweat, his hair clinging to him and hanging oddly. He closed his eyes against the glaring Greek sun and staggered to the shower, where he stood under the spray unmoving for twenty minutes, trying to rewrite yesterday.

Not talking to the German girls. Not inviting them to dinner. Instead, coming home with Hannibal, having a relaxing dinner of ceviche and Old Fashioneds, which they had started drinking together every evening. Lazing by the pool in the dark, listening to the quiet lap of the waves.

Not getting a blowjob from a strange woman. Not shredding his delicate truce with Hannibal like an overdue cheque.  Perhaps, rather, walking over to where Hannibal always sat, looking out over the nighttime harbor, smoothing back the bangs that had fallen loose from his ponytail, leaning over and….and…

Will made a pained noise. He felt suddenly bereft of something vital, but he didn’t know what it was or where it had come from. But it was gone now, and  _ God _ , it hurt.

Will entered the kitchen slowly, peering around the corner before actually stepping in.

It was empty.

Will looked around, eyebrows raising. He had a brief moment of panic that perhaps Hannibal had abandoned him altogether; picked up and left Will rather than kill him. But no, Hannibal’s iPad was still on the settee, his cell phone charger still plugged in by the fridge, his well-read version of A Clockwork Orange sitting on the small bar they usually ate their meals at.

But things were different. For one thing, Will always awoke with a cup of coffee exactly how he liked it on his bedside table, and this morning, he’d been too out of sorts to notice it’s absence until he’d come out of the shower. Hannibal also almost always got out Will’s cereal and placed it and a bowl and spoon on the bar, on the left hand side, where Will always sat. This morning, the kitchen was devoid of any such niceties.

And suddenly it hit Will, so hard and abruptly he inhaled sharply.

Love didn’t have to be shown in grand gestures of romance and longing, did it? Love could be found in little things. Like making sure Will had his preferred breakfast if Hannibal wasn’t already preparing him something fresh. Like bringing Will his coffee black with one level teaspoon of sugar, always somehow piping hot right as Will awoke.

Little markers of love, ignored until suddenly they were gone. Will ached with it.

Will walked slowly over to the bar and picked up the worn book. When he’d first seen Hannibal reading it, he’d burst out laughing.

“A Clockwork Orange? Really?”

Hannibal had looked at him over his reading glasses.

“Yes. Why is that so funny, may I ask?”

“It’s just…you set so much store by propriety and beauty, I’m amazed you can stomach it.”

Hannibal had given Will a wry smile. “I think you’ll find there are few things I cannot stomach. However, I find Anthony Burgess both brilliant and inventive. I have enjoyed this book for many years.”

Will narrowed his eyes at Hannibal. “Anthony Burgess, okay, but…Stanley Kubrick, too, right?”

Hannibal had gone back to his book, not looking at Will.

“I’m sorry, who, Will?”

Will had practically fallen off the barstool.

“ _ You haven’t seen the movie?”  _ he’d yelped.

Hannibal sighed forlornly and marked his page, then closed the little book.

“No, I have not.”

“Well, I know what we’re doing tonight. Christ.”

And so they’d watched the movie. Will had glanced over at Hannibal several times throughout, wondering if behind the mask there was any emotional reaction to it. Outwardly, of course, there was none.

When the movie was over, Hannibal had smirked at Will, gone back over to his book and chair, and continued reading.

“If it’s all the same to you, Will, I’ll stay with Mr. Burgess.”

And that had been that.

Will put down the book.

 

He went over to the coffee maker, which had been meticulously emptied and cleaned, or never turned on. Either way, there was no coffee. He carefully measured out the beans, ground them in the electric mill and scooped into the little engine, trying to figure out the shiny machine that he was never up in time to use.

Then Will froze.

He slowly rotated on his bare feet, and saw the knife. It was exactly as it had been the night before, stuck into the polished antique cherry cabinet.

The knife had cost Hannibal four thousand euros, Will had been there when he’d bought it. And now, it was a statement piece. A statement of how close Hannibal had been…how  _ easy  _ it could have been.

Will was still staring at it when Hannibal slipped into the kitchen, dressed as though he were going out. Indeed, he grabbed the Maserati’s keys from the bar, along with his sunglasses.

He was in simple and perfectly fitted black jeans, Italian loafers and a luxurious looking Henley. Everything about him was effortlessly beautiful, and Will found himself unable to truly look at him.

Will remembered the look on Hannibal’s face the night before as he’d watched Will slowly slip under. Will remembered the horror he’d felt, the shame. The utter misery when he’d realized what he’d broken.

Will watched Hannibal’s back as he went to the foyer, never once looking at Will. Will tried to speak, tried to say something that might ease the excruciating pain impaling him and get Hannibal to turn, to say  _ something.  _ But nothing came out of his gaping mouth.

Hannibal opened the door, and as he was about to step through, Will was able to choke out one single word.

“ _ Hannibal _ ” he said, voice hoarse.

The other man paused for the briefest of seconds, turning his head slightly back over his shoulder. Then he swept out and was gone, leaving Will alone. Entirely and horribly alone.

  
  
  


Will spent the day ostensibly doing nothing. He tried to read but found himself on the same page after about fifteen minutes with absolutely no recollection of what it was he’d been reading, so he gave up and watched television.

Greek TV was bizarre enough that it was vaguely entertaining for a few minutes before his lack of understanding the language let his brain wander to the elephant that  _ wasn’t _ in the room. Or in the kitchen. Or tanning in his little bathing suit on the patio.

Will turned on some music and cranked the outdoor speakers. He was listening to RUSH  _ Vapor Trails  _ and simultaneously doing a strange airport crossword he’d bought in London, hoping this clash of stimuli would drown out the simmering sensation of his stomach trying to crawl into his mouth and out, like a starfish.

After about fifteen minutes of this, a woman in her mid-fifties from Monaco in the condo below, in Yves St. Laurent head-to-toe, came up and knocked on the door. She asked if Will could please turn down his music, and Will considered if killing her and making an ornate presentation of her corpse for Hannibal to come home to would maybe repair some of the damage that was done. But Will gave it up as a bad job as well and turned down his music, before flopping onto the luxurious deck lounger by the pool and letting his skin fry. He brought up images of the most gruesome murders he’d seen in his years at the FBI, and hoped they would maybe lift his spirits a bit.

By about 4 pm, Will was both badly sunburnt and out of murders, so he got dressed, put on sunscreen until he felt like a buttered scone and got his scant fishing gear together. He rode the elevator down, ignored the look from the doorman and walked the brief walk to the docks on Zea harbor.

Will hadn’t been too taken with ocean fishing when they’d first arrived in Greece. When Hannibal had chartered a boat for him to go deep sea fishing, Will had been both annoyed and treacherously sea sick, having lost his sea legs over the years. 

However, after watching kids on the docks, he’d seen them catching multitudes of little fish in amongst the piers and yachts, and decided to try his hand at ‘shit fishing’, as an American millionaire he’d run into called it.

“The fish are shit, and it don’t mean shit once you caught ‘em, but fuck it passes the time.” And he’d laughed an old smoker’s wheeze all over Will and given him some tackle to keep.

Will hadn’t caught much in terms of variety. He caught a few indeterminate small glittery things that a Greek man told him was a ‘salpa’, and on one occasion, a conger eel, which had scared the living fuck out of him when he’d pulled it up, considering it was almost six feet long and flailing like…well, an eel.

Now, Will plunked himself down on a less populated pier and baited his hook with bacon, which hadn’t gone over well when Hannibal had found out, but Will did nonetheless. Since then, Will had found pre-minced baggies of bacon left out for him to use.

Just thinking it made his chest feel stepped on.

Will let out some line and got acquainted with his surroundings. He was sitting in a gap between two tied up yachts, each worth about ten million or so dollars each. There were a few people here and there, doing boat-ish things and bustling about. Will noticed another man, about a hundred yards down the pier, looking down into the water, wandering among boats and looking generally…shifty.

Will wasn’t worried. Shifty characters didn’t worry him anymore. They were easily dealt with if they presented a problem.

Will listened to snippets and snatched of voices drift across the bay from various sources. He let them echo in his crowded head, and hoped they would nudge out other thoughts. They didn’t.

Where had Hannibal gone? He rarely went out without Will, and if he did, he always gave Will either a day’s warning in advance or invited Will along anyway. He didn’t just…go.

Will was so lost in thought he didn’t notice his line being slowly moved from its original location, and he flinched when his rod jumped in his hands.

Will gripped the rod and set the hook sharply, and began reeling, hoping to god it wasn’t another goddamn eel. It was fighting oddly, and Will almost didn’t want to lean over to see what was coming up.

And then it broke the surface and he burst out laughing.

It was an octopus. It was brilliant orange, and it was dribbling ink everywhere when Will lowered it to the plastic decking. Will knelt beside it, grinning despite himself when it coiled it’s suckery little arms around his fingers and wrists as he tried to get at the hook deep in the center. It was looking at him with eyes far too intelligent for an amorphous sea blob, and he found himself staring into them. It was changing colour too, and texture, going from sleek orange to a sort of rough grey. He realized it was trying to blend into the colour of the dock, and raised his eyebrows. He’d heard octopi and squid were smart, he’d seen it on a nature show at some time or another, but when he was finally faced with the animal itself, he was stunned.

Will fished his pliers out of his pocket and tried to wrangle tentacles with one hand while removing the hook with the other. This proved more difficult than it should have been, and he was so engrossed, he didn’t hear the man approach.

“You need some help, man?” the guy said, and Will’s head snapped up.

“What? No. Just trying to unhook him.”

The man’s voice was heavily accented as he said “I can help. It’s not so hard.”

He knelt beside Will and with a rough jerk yanked the hook from the little beak inside the octopus’ folds. Will narrowed his eyes.

“Uh. Thanks. I’ll take it from here.”

“I’ll take it, if you don’t want it.” The man said, and grabbed the octopus by its diaphanous head, hefting it. The beautiful eyes bulged.

Will snatched the thing back so fast he surprised himself.

“Uh. No. I want it.”

“You gonna eat it? It’s good. Sell it for lots of money, if you don’t want.” The man said, reaching for it again.

“What? No. I’m not eating it. I’m…catch and release fishing.”

The man laughed loudly at this, and Will felt his anger rising in a hot, gripping rush.

“Naw, man. I’ll sell it. I’ll cut you in, man, I swear on St. Mary, I will.” He gave Will an earnest look, and Will almost snarled at him. He was holding the octopus to his chest like the aforesaid Mary clutched dead Jesus.

“You’re not taking my fucking octopus,  _ man _ .” Will said, teeth gritted.

The man raised his eyebrows.

“You’re gonna waste it, then, pappara? I helped you, you would have been fucked man if I hadn’t come along.” He was squaring his shoulders to Will, but Will was still about six inches taller.

“Look asshole, this is my fish, my fucking problem, I didn’t ask for your help, but you provided. I don’t pay people for volunteer services. Now fuck off, please.”

And with that, Will hucked the octopus back into the sea, where it jetted off immediately into the gloom under a yacht.

The man gave Will a dirty glare.

“You know, you’re a real shit, aren’t you, American pousti.”

Will’s lip curled, in a mannerism he realized he’d adopted from Hannibal.

Will had heard that one before. The greengrocer who may or may not have provided the previous evening’s tenderloin had muttered it under his breath when Hannibal and Will had visited his stall for olives and cherry tomatoes. Will had glanced at Hannibal, whose head had tilted slightly as he regarded the local coconut selection, but had shown no other signs of noticing. ‘Pousti’ was the Greek approximation of ‘faggot’, as Will had learned while skimming the dictionary the day previous.

“I suggest. You turn around. And go back to whatever the fuck you were doing before you came wandering over here.” Will said, his voice flat and quiet.

“This is my pier, xeno, I suggest you do that yourself.” The man looked suddenly delighted.

“What…you  _ own  _ this pier? Like fuck you do.”

“I do. That’s my house there, man. I’m the guy who decides who ties up on this dock, and who doesn’t. And I also decide you can get the fuck off, man.”

Will stared at the guy, his breath coming short and sharp.

He wanted to kill him. He realized it, sudden and immediate. He wanted to wrap his hands around the man’s impudent neck and strangle the life out of him, watching as his face went from red to purple. All the impotent rage that had been building up in him all day wanted to reach out and snatch the man’s trachea from his throat.

But he wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

Will bent to grab his rod, but the man got to it first. With one toe, he knocked it into the water, where it sank before Will could snatch it. Will stood stooped, fighting every urge within him to  _ stay calm don’t kill him stay calm don’t kill him don’t kill him. _

“Ay gamisou, bastarde.” The man said, and he was grinning.

Will got stiffly to his feet.

And walked off the pier without another word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pappara: asshole  
> ay gamisou: fuck you  
> Xeno: foreigner


	5. The Sacrifice of Iphigenia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will feels scrappy. And horny.*  
> Hannibal neither forgives nor forgets.
> 
> *mild smut containing ;)

Will was feeling a bit...volatile…when he got back into the condo. The doorman usually looked at Will strangely, but now that he was coming back without the fishing gear he’d just left with and was covered in octopus ink and slime, he got a particularly long stare.

Will threw open the door of the condo, already unbuttoning his cheap Cabela’s hiking shirt. He wriggled out of it, and by the time he got to the kitchen, he’d got it off. He smelled of ocean and fish, and he flung the shirt onto the island and went to the sink. He was still vibrating with tension and rage, and he could taste blood in his mouth from biting his tongue.

Will turned on the cold water, stuck his head under the tap, and closed his eyes. He could still feel it, see it,  _ taste _ it. He’d wanted to wash the pier in the man’s blood, and see if the clever octopus could match its colour. He’d wanted to feel his skin tear under his hands, stretching to breaking point and then ripping like cloth.

And this time, he wasn’t channeling a serial killer. He wasn’t even channeling Hannibal. He was finally just channeling the animal that Hannibal had unchained in him. He’d climbed into  _ Will’s  _ head, in truly Hannibal fashion without any fear or doubt, walked into the darkest cave in his mind, and unchained the sleeping monster. He’d recognized his twin for what it was, and sought its freedom above everything else.

Will turned off the tap and leaned on the edge of the sink, letting water cascade from his hair, nose and chin.  He reached blindly for the dish towel and dried his face off, turning around…

To see Hannibal, standing in the kitchen doorway, a garment bag over one shoulder.

Will lowered the towel slowly and placed it gently on the island.

He watched as Hannibal’s amber eyes scanned him minutely, before snapping to the stained shirt.

“Uh…I got in a fight with the harbormaster over an octopus.” Will said lamely, and grimaced.

Hannibal’s face didn’t change even a fraction. He looked back at Will for a moment, his face as stone as it ever was, and then went on down the short hallway that led to his room, without a single word.

Will let out a long breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

He threw his shirt in the garbage, made himself an Old Fashioned, downed it in one go and shuddered, then stripped off his jeans and jumped in the pool in his briefs. He let himself sink to the bottom and wished he could change his skin colour and texture into the same as the pool liner and disappear entirely, just like the octopus.

Soaking in the pool did nothing to ease the twisting, flailing angry creature inside him. In fact, when he went inside some forty five minutes later, he was even scrappier feeling than he had been when he got home, and he knew that whether he liked it or not, he was probably going to be directing this ire at Hannibal. He also knew this was a stupid idea. But sometimes, he had to push. Pushing always showed where the edges of the map were, beyond which, of course, there be monsters.

Will heard the quiet tinkling of ice in a glass when he stepped inside, and he looked around for the source.

Then Hannibal entered from the opposite side of the kitchen, holding what appeared to be a whiskey sour on ice and wearing a spectacular tuxedo and black bowtie.

Will slowly raised one eyebrow.

“Is there…something I’m forgetting?” Will said hesitantly. He wasn’t sure in the least what stage their rapport was currently in. Probably tatters.

Hannibal sipped his drink and placed the glass on the island, pushing it gently with his finger so it slid on its copious shroud of condensation.

“No. I am going to a cocktail gala at the Athens museum. You are forgetting nothing.”

Hannibal turned to the small mirror on the wall, entirely ignoring the knife in the cabinet.

Will felt the ire that had been tamped but recently reignited by his altercation on the pier, flare brightly.

“Alone? And is that wise, going to a fancy gala, considering we’re trying to fly under the radar… seeing as how we’re both  _ legally dead _ ?”

Hannibal ignored him, adjusting his bowtie with his lips pursed lightly.

Will was shaking again in indignation.

“You’re going to leave? Without saying anything?” Will stepped closer to Hannibal, glaring hard at the back of his silver head.

“What would you like me to say, Will?” Hannibal said, and he met Will’s gaze in the mirror.

“Something! Anything! We’ve talked through every fucking horrible bullshit event that’s happened to us and between us, so maybe why don’t you tell me why you’ve suddenly gone radio silent?”

Hannibal looked back at himself in the mirror, and reached up, undoing his small ponytail and redoing it meticulously.

“I’m done speaking with you, Will. There is little to be said, until such time as it comes apparent. And that time has not yet come.” Hannibal turned and patted his suit down primly, heading for the door.

Will followed, barely restraining himself from shoving Hannibal’s turned back.

“Jesus  _ Christ _ , you just go fucking full-tilt diva when you don’t get what you want, don’t you?”

With a whisper of fine fabric and a blur of black, Hannibal had Will pinned to the wall with a hand around his throat, in a motion so hard and fast that a nearby painting rattled and fell off the wall.

“You are tempting me again, Will.  _ Do not tempt me. _ ” Hannibal snarled, ignoring Will’s wheezing coughs.

Will wanted to respond, but he couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. He grabbed at Hannibal’s long fingers, trying to pry them off to no avail.

“One second. One  _ infinitesimal  _ moment of lapse in my self-control, Will, and that would be the end of you. It would be easy as snapping a dry twig. So I will say it again, to ensure you comprehend me entirely and without error:  _ Do. NOT. Tempt. Me.”  _ Hannibal squeezed even harder, and Will choked harshly. He could feel his blood hammering in his ear and eyes.

Hannibal dropped him.

Will sank to the floor, coughing, dry heaving and gasping. Above him, Hannibal straightened his suit, looking down his nose at Will, who wiped drool off his lips and looked up at the man towering over him, dapper and evil as ever.

And even as terrifying as that man was, Will realized at that moment he wasn’t afraid of him. It was exhilarating.

“Try me.” Will wheezed, and Hannibal’s lip curled in distaste.

In long, quick strides, Hannibal was gone, closing the door sharply behind him. Another already dislodged painting fell to the floor, and Will still coughed.

Will staggered back to the kitchen and leaned heavily on the island. He picked up Hannibal’s whiskey sour and downed it, dropping the heavy filigree carved glass to the granite counter with a clatter. He closed his eyes and let out a long, groaning sigh, dropping his forehead to the cold stone surface.

Well, he’d pushed. And he’d found the sea monsters off the edge of the map.

But he’d do it again, he realized. He wanted to shove Hannibal still, push him, see how far he could bend them until they really broke. How far did this supposed love Hannibal bore him, support Will chopping their easy co-existence to pieces?

At that moment, Will regretted inviting the German girls over more than anything in his life. More than the FBI, more than Abigail, than Beverly, than Molly and Walter. He regretted it so fully and completely, his jaw ached from clenching in desperation.

How badly he wanted to be sitting with Hannibal in the living room, reading his book while Hannibal read his, drinking and sitting in quiet peace. To be swimming in the dark, under the stars, watching the beautiful creature he was slice powerfully through the water as effortlessly as he did anything. Or, be dressed in an exquisite tuxedo of his own, grinning nervously but trusting Hannibal utterly as they swept into the gala and turned every head there.

Will realized there were tears in his eyes, but he let them trickle down his nose without wiping them away.

How mesmerizingly handsome Hannibal had looked in his suit…he hadn’t worn anything anywhere near as fancy since they’d been incognito, and seeing him in full Baltimore-era regalia made Will’s heart ache as if it were full of stones.

He was gorgeous.                                                                                                                  

Will sniffed hard and lifted his eyes. They settled on the glass tumbler.

On the rim, he saw lip marks, delicate and slight. Not his own. Will reached forward and pulled the glass nearer, examining them. Hannibal’s lips had made that impression. His smooth, sensuous and wide lips.

Will let his eyes close again, and he lowered his forehead back to the granite.

_ Come for me, Will. _

Will shuddered suddenly in recollection, and the image unfurled in his head like a poorly crumpled secret note, passed hand to sweaty hand:

Hannibal’s lovely fingers, curled around Will’s straining, rigid cock. His lips parted over the head, his tongue twisting around the slit delicate as could be. His  _ teeth. _

Will moaned rather obscenely. Now, in his memory, the apparition was wearing a black tuxedo and bowtie. He could almost  _ feel  _ the fabric, rich and soft, brushing against his sensitized skin.

Will imagined Hannibal approaching him at that moment, on silent feet, without even the slightest rustle of clothing. He imagined him stepping up behind Will’s bent over figure, front of his pelvis against the flesh of Will’s ass.

Will ground his teeth.

In his mind, Hannibal twisted his arms around Will’s torso, still bare after the pool, and pulled him upright and flush against him. He settled his nose into the crease behind Will’s ear, tongue darting out to gently taste the lobe as his hands roamed Will’s body, clutching and grasping at the gooseflesh pocked skin. Against him, Will arched and let his head fall back onto Hannibal’s shoulder, exposing his neck. Hannibal ran his nose along it to, ever so gently grazing the thin skin, inhaling Will’s scent, inhaling his  _ everything. _

Then he latched his mouth onto the bare flesh, pressing his obscenely hot,  _ burning  _ hot mouth against Will’s jugular. Will’s mouth dropped open and he moaned, grabbing a handful of Hannibal’s bound hair with one hand, and reaching back around himself to grab at Hannibal and pull him closer with the other.

Hannibal’s hand descended from his sternum, tickling across the scar he’d slashed into Will’s abdomen, his bellybutton, down, down, until he reached the unbelted top of Will’s jeans, which he shoved down without ceremony, along with Will’s barely dry briefs, and cupped Will’s erection in his soft, delicate hand.

Will hissed, turning his head to Hannibal to seek a desperate kiss, only to lose focus when Hannibal stroked him from root to tip, brushing across the very tip of Will’s urgently hard cock with a manicured nail. Will whimpered, clinging to the man behind him while bucking his hips into the hand that teased him, long fingers drifting in irregular patterns that varied in firmness, sometimes stroking but sometimes teasingly absent.

_ What do you want from me, Will? _

So similar to what Hannibal had already said that evening, but this time the words were like caramel, pouring out of that delicious mouth, and Will fisted his hand in Hannibal’s hair again, hard.

“You! Just you.” He whispered, voice muted and breathy, and he looked down at the hand, stroking him fully now, spreading the copious amounts of fluid Will was leaking all over his cock and Hannibal’s hand. Will breathed a rasping breath through his teeth and turned his face away. It was so  _ good _ .

Hannibal was nosing at the point of Will’s jaw, scenting him and tasting him in turn. His breath was scorching and smelled of blood.

Will was just short of thrashing in Hannibal’s hands, gasping and keening desperately as Hannibal’s fingers traced up the thick vein on the underside of Will’s cock, while the other pinched delicately at an erect nipple.

“I…I…I,  _ please _ ,” Will mumbled, trying to press Hannibal’s face into his throat.

Setting his teeth firmly to Will’s skin, Hannibal kissed and licked what he could reach, before nipping sharply and holding delicate skin between his wicked sharp teeth. He ran the gentlest finger across the very tip of Will’s cock.

_ Come for me, Will. _

And Will came.

Will yelped, jerking upright from his position slumped over the island. His chest was heaving, sweat was pouring down his face…and his groin was wet.

He had just come, untouched, from imagining Hannibal toying with him in the kitchen.

Will’s legs felt like jello, and he let himself slide down to the floor. He looked down at his groin, staring hard at the expanding wet patch, and tried not to think about what it meant.

  
  


           Will grunted and jerked awake at the sound of a door closing and keys jingling.

Groggily, he blinked and rubbed his eyes with his palms, trying to come to terms with what was happening and where the hell he was.

He’d apparently fallen asleep on the floor, reclined against the island… why?

Oh  _ fuck _ .

The previous evening came galloping into Will’s head like a herd of terrified mustangs, and Will realized he was sitting in cum covered jeans on the kitchen floor.  _ Fucking shit. _

Will got silently to his feet and leapt in one stride into one of the thresholds between the kitchen and living room, as Hannibal came in through the other. Will leaned against the wall, his whole body protesting going from prone on a hard floor to acrobatics in one movement. That, and his pants and briefs were stiff and stuck together and felt  _ disgusting _ .

From his hiding place, Will could watch Hannibal in the reflection on the dark windows of the sliding glass doors, while he himself was in shadow. He could also see the clock.

Four a.m.? Hannibal came home at  _ four a.m.? _

__ __ Will watched Hannibal place the Maserati keys on the island, watched him bring both hands up and smooth back his hair, sighing deeply. Will found himself glad he couldn’t make out the other man’s face in any real detail; it made the fact that he’d orgasmed violently to that face earlier a bit easier.

There was moment where Will watched the reflection, and the reflection looked at itself, where Will considered stepping out of his hiding place. Considered throwing himself upon Hannibal’s mercy and hoping to God he would bounce off and not be devoured. But the feeling left as quick as it came, and Will waited while Hannibal leaned on the counter, just for a moment, head bowed, and then left, turning off lights as he went.

Will ran to his room on the other side of the condo, closing the door a silently as he could. He peeled off his horrible clothes and stepped into the shower. Hopefully, Hannibal would just think he’d woken up sweaty and distraught again…and decided not to do anything about it, as he had the night before.

Will rinsed off and dried himself perfunctorily, distracted and miserable. He climbed into his plush bed and buried into the luscious eider down pillows, but lay awake until twilight trying to rationalize himself. And trying to rationalize what coming to just the  _ thought  _ of Hannibal touching him could mean. 

 

 

When Will woke up, he was twisted inside the knots of his comforter and sheets, but blissfully not hyperventilating or drenched in sweat. He dragged himself out from under the bedclothes, and stood looking out his window, over the little courtyard behind the condos. A middle aged man was watering a huge urn full of cacti.

Will glanced at his red digital clock. Jesus, noon? Stress had his sleeping schedule utterly decimated.

Will ground his palms into his eyes.

What would happen today? Would Will walk out of his room, and Hannibal would either not be there or ignore him entirely?

What were his options? Ignore it. Wait until something gave and finally Hannibal killed him, or left him. He could try leaving for himself. But…he didn’t  _ want  _ to leave. He wanted to go back to how they had been, familiar, comfortable and easy. He didn’t want anything more.

No. How could that possibly true? His body had treacherously told him he wanted more. Wanted  _ everything _ . And Hannibal…Hannibal loved him. Will knew that. Hannibal had  _ said _ it for god’s sake. But Will had been so blind, so  _ stupid  _ and so blind. They were so entrenched in each other, so saturated with the essence of their togetherness, that it made it almost impossible to see the forest for the trees.

It was  _ love  _ between them, rabid and violent but also slow and sweet. It was maddening, and it hurt, physically  _ ached  _ Will when he thought of the other man now.

Will remembered his Dad listening to Derek and the Dominoes in the old station wagon on cassette.  _ Have you ever loved a woman, so much, you tremble in pain? _

Yes, Will thought. Except he’s not a woman, he’s a cannibalistic serial killer and I love him so badly I want to kill people for him. With him. Want to see his face as he kills someone, as  _ I  _ kill someone.

Will got dressed slowly, deciding on basketball shorts and a bland t shirt. He didn’t have it in him for anything more elaborate, and when he left his room he found himself both unpleasantly numb and not nearly numb enough.

What could he do? Prostrate himself at Hannibal’s feet? Beg him for-

Will froze in the hallway.

There were voices in the condo. One was unmistakably Hannibal’s (Will could pick that voice out in a crowd of a thousand), and the other was…. female.

Will’s pulse began to climb. Had Hannibal…come home with a woman? No; Will had seen him get in alone, and saw him go to his room. He didn’t think Hannibal was the ‘sneak a woman in’ type.

But…there was a  _ woman _ in the condo.

Will’s legs began to move, and it felt like his body was pushing his brain along towards the kitchen like a stubborn donkey.

No, he thought desperately, I don’t want to see. I don’t want to know.

Will rounded the corner into the kitchen, and balked.

A beautiful woman was working over the island. Her hair was a mass of tight, dark brown curls, her eyes rich mahogany. She wore roman glass earrings and silver bangles on each arm, and was dressed in a flowy, bright red and orange shawl and tank top. Around her throat lay a beautiful silver chain with a big piece of lapis hanging off it. On anyone else, her apparel could have been gaudy, but on her it was nothing short of spectacular. Her full dark lips parted as she smiled at Will, tilting her head so her hair swayed.

“Hello there, you must be Stuart!” she had a rich Spanish accent, and Will found himself utterly speechless.

“Theo is outside, he is setting the table for lunch.”

Will gaped again, then cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry, I think I’ve missed… a step or two.” Will said. He realized he wasn’t even trying to be polite.

“Ah! Right. I’m Arabella. I met Theo last night at the gala; it’s so sad you couldn’t make it, it was so lovely!”

“The…the cocktail gala?” Will was still staring at her.

“Yes! I’m curating the exhibit on Women in the Illiad. It was so fortuitous to meet him, not many people can recite the whole Sacrifice of Iphigenia, in the original language and dactylic hexameter no less.” Arabella waved him over, and Will found his traitorous feet complying.

“But…lunch?” Will said lamely, taking the bowl of capers that was placed in his hands.

“Your friend, self-assured though he may be, admitted to me his Spanish cuisine was not as refined as one might like, so I told him I would get the ingredients and teach him.” She gave Will a bright look, “I hope you’re hungry, we’re having gazpacho, paella with butter beans and lamb, and patatas bravas.” She winked at Will, “I added a tiny bit of tequila to the gazpacho. You’ll like it.”

Will was so taken aback and flustered, he almost dropped the capers when Hannibal appeared in the doorway.        

The man was dressed in just a plain white cotton t shirt and jeans, but it was so achingly familiar and intimate that Will had to look away. He couldn’t even get close to looking into his face.

“I see you met Arabella, Stuart.” Hannibal said, approaching the counter. He was considering Will with an open and friendly expression, as far as Will would tell from his peripheral vision.

“Yes. I did. Thank you.” Will said. He realized his voice was almost a whisper.

“Oh,  _ Theo _ , you should have warned him, he looks mortified.” Arabella said, and Will saw her give Hannibal a teasing glare.

“Oh, I think you’d be amazed by how adaptable our Stuart is.” Hannibal said, easily insinuating himself beside her at the island where she was neatly slicing potatoes. He took the knife gently from her hand and adjusted her grip with the other. “And if you hold it like  _ this _ , we won’t be having any of your delightful fingers in the meal.” Will could  _ feel  _ his eyes on him, daring him to…what?

“Ah,” she said, swatting at him dismissively, and took her knife back, “Then he must have adapted to you being so bossy, then, darling.” And she shot Will a teasing glance.

Will realized he was quivering ever so slightly. He had never seen anyone so comfortable around Hannibal who wasn’t  _ him. _ He had certainly never seen anyone swat him before, nor be as comfortable pushing back when Hannibal was indeed being bossy.

And then the jealousy came. It coiled up his legs, binding him tightly like an anaconda, squeezing his body and finally his throat, choking him. It was a surprisingly violent feeling, and it made him want to hurl the bowl of capers across the kitchen and watch it smash. He felt burning hot, as if his cheeks were flushing and his ears glowing. He was rooted to the spot, unable to retreat or advance. He didn’t know which one he wanted to do.     

Then Hannibal came around the island and leaned around Will, putting a hand on his shoulder as he pressed his entire torso, warm and firm, against Will’s back. With just their thin shirts between them, Will could feel the firm shape of Hannibal’s chest, feel the gentle scratch of the hair there, even the warmth of his belly pressing against his lower back. Will’s spine went ramrod straight at the contact, his eyes wide in horror as Hannibal reached far past and around him and grabbed another knife from the knife block. It glinted white as he withdrew it, and when Will saw it was the one that had been embedded in the wall, now re-sharpened by a practiced hand, he inhaled sharply and dropped the capers with a rattle onto the island. He extricated himself from Hannibal’s embrace by ducking sideways, and backed away.

“Stuart? Are you alright?” Arabella said, looking genuinely concerned, “You’ve gone white as milk, you poor thing!”

“I want to go.” Will blurted, still backing up, “I’m going for a drive, I’m taking the car and…. I’ll…I’m going. Okay? I’m going.” He bumped the bar as he went, saw the car keys, grabbed them, and more or less ran out of the condo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'full tilt diva' shamelessly stolen from Tony Stark in Avengers 1


	6. Unforgettable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal gets even.  
> Will gets angry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a brief scene in this chapter inspired by the tumblr gifset of Mad's back and...posterior... in the love scene from Michael Kohlhaas. You'll...see what I mean. (Link here): http://disraeligearsgoestumblin.tumblr.com/post/147595440608/plaid-suits-and-paisley-ties-michael-kohlhaas
> 
> *Content warning: Canon typical violence. You've been warned.

           The powerful growl of the engine was remarkably soothing as Will drove out of the city, but he decided distance between him and Athens would probably feel even better. He drove until he found open road, decided  _ fuck it _ and shoved the pedal to the floor until he was sailing along a coast road at around ninety miles per hour. The car made it feel effortless.

He drove until Athens disappeared and his teeth stopped chattering. Envy was a painful emotion, and it took quite some time for it to recede to safe levels, seeping out his pores. After about half an hour of driving that was probably more technically reckless endangerment, Will saw ancient ruins of some ilk on the crest of a hill and a little parking alcove. He pulled over, fumbling in the glove compartment for sunglasses… and only found Hannibal’s club masters. Trying not to think about it, Will put them on and stepped out into the glaring afternoon sunshine. It was breezy, fortunately, considering it was about a hundred and two degrees. There was a path leading up to the ruins, and Will ascended. He left his phone in the car; he didn’t want to be connected to anyone or anything.

The ruins were really just a couple incomplete walls and fallen column drums, and Will sat on a convenient one. He let his eyes slide closed and tried not to think about the shambles that were now his life.

He tried to ascertain when exactly it was that how he felt about Hannibal had changed. When they’d first met, he’d resented him utterly, but when he was sick he had leaned on Hannibal like a crutch. But the whole time, Hannibal had been up to his elbows in Will’s brain, delighting in taking it apart as he carefully set him up to take his fall. Then…then, Will had hated him.  _ HATED him.  _ He’d never felt more betrayed in his life than the moment he’d realized the truth behind the placid, benignly smiling face. But…it hadn’t been the betrayal of suddenly realizing the Chesapeake Ripper was his closest friend. Not the betrayal of a confidant, not even the betrayal of a friend…it had been the betrayal of, well, a  _ lover. _ A lover without the physical intimacy, but with as much or more mental intimacy. It was the realest and rawest relationship Will had ever had, and Hannibal had been  _ lying _ .

But then the seduction borne of rage had started. And it had been… so easy. He had been tasked with catching the world’s most elusive and dangerous fish, but got so caught up in the laying of the trap, so comfortable in the water, he’d wanted to close his eyes and slip under the surface. It  _ could _ have been so easy, but he’d set the hook. He’d dragged it deep into the soft mouth of his prey…and he paid the price, and Abigail had paid it with him. He’d nearly died.

And then…and then, what? He’d wanted to kill him. Hunt him down, tear him into little bits to try find the pieces Hannibal had taken, and then…and then, apologize. He’d forgiven Hannibal the moment he’d sunk the linoleum knife into his stomach. Forgiven him when he’d slit Abigail’s throat, and forgiven him for leaving him behind.

       He’d forgiven the man for everything he had done or could ever do to him, and it was terrifying.

       So when then, had this all started? When had this seed of ownership been planted? It had grown into a horrible, gnarled tree inside of him and now each of its leaves were printed with  _ mine, mine, mine, mine _ . The core part of Will saw Hannibal as  _ his  _ and his alone. His didn’t want to share and he didn’t want to throw him away.

       But he had, hadn’t he. He’d thrown away his favorite toy in a fit of pique and now he was desperately clawing through the garbage to find it.

       Will let out a long, aching groan which turned into a curse by the end. He opened his eyes at the sound of voices, and looked down the path.

      There were kids coming up the hill. Well… _ young adults. _ They looked to be in their early twenties or so, maybe late teens. They had backpacks, water bottles, were dressed like tourists and  _ oh thank fucking god,  _ had what sounded like American accents. They didn’t notice Will until they reached the top of the hill, and they all stopped and stared.

       “Uh…chaírete …” one of them said, grimacing at Will through his Greek pronunciation.

       “English is fine.” Will said, and all four of them visibly relaxed. They approached him, and the two girls glanced at each other and smirked. Will decided to ignore this.

       He watched them fan out, and they sat in amongst the ruins like Will did, chattering quietly.

         “Hey, is that your car?” one of the boys said to Will, grinning. He had a terrible sunburn and sunglasses tan, and had a non-descript North American accent. Will let the briefest tendril of empathy loose in his direction, and got the basic details: upper class student, northeast coast, just overcoming both food poisoning and jet lag, crush on one of the two girls.

“Yes.” Will said. He wanted to smile back, but no part of his face or miserable soul wanted to comply.

_ Hello there, promising youths, I’m a cannibalistic murderer, and I’m in love with another one who’s even worse! What brings you to Athens? _

__ __ “Cool. It’s so awesome.” The boy nodded enthusiastically.

“Is it fast?” one of the girls asked. She was trying to seem mildly interested, but Will only had to flash his eyes to her to see she was practically undressing him with her eyes. He cleared his throat.

“Super fast. And fun. It’s a great car.”

“You’re American?” the other boy asked.

Ah, what the hell.

“Yup. Malibu. You guys?”

“Columbia.” The first boy said, and one of the girls ‘whoo’-ed. Will smirked despite his melancholy. Yes, students.

“You here on a dig or something?” Will asked.

“Ya. Today is our day off.”

“Sweet.” Will said. It felt so strange, having a conversation with normal strangers. Without accents, also, which was a bit odd. His ears kept expecting vowels to dip when they didn’t.

“Uh…we brought some ouzo…if you wanted some.” One of the girls said, opening her bag to reveal a bottle and a stack of plastic cups.

Will blinked. He’d also forgotten how easy comradery could come sometimes. He didn’t used to be this good at interacting with people…but that was before Hannibal.

“Uh…fuck, yeah, I’ll have some.” Will said, and the girls both laughed slightly more than was probably strictly necessary.

Will took the proffered glass once it had a good three shots worth of ouzo in it, and they all toasted.

“To strangers in a strange land!” One of the girls said, and she winked at Will, who pretended not to notice.

Once the kids had sputtered down their first sips of ouzo and laughed at the faces the others made, the second boy who had spoken gave Will an appraising look.

“So you drive a Maserati, and you’re from Malibu. What do you do?”

Shit. He hadn’t thought that far ahead.

“Investment banker to the rich and famous.” He said, and tried to pull a wry face.

“Then why are you in Athens?” the boy asked. Will tried to ignore the accented voice in the back of his mind that muttered ‘ _ rude’. _

__ __ “Client invited me. Just got back from Mykonos and Santorini.”

“Oooo.” One of the girls said, giving Will a knowing look, “It’s a woman, isn’t it? A rich older woman. Oh my god, are you like her kept rent boy? Is her husband playing golf right now in Palm Springs?”

Sure, why not.

“She is a  _ close friend  _ and her husband died a year ago but…well, you’re sure you haven’t been spying on me?” Will managed a dry smile, and this got a round of delighted hoots from the congregated party.

Will ended up spending the rest of the afternoon with them. Instead of finishing his ouzo, he offered them a ride in the Maserati to the nearest bar so they could drink properly. This got an enthusiastic response, particularly after he insisted “I’m not a serial killer, I promise” while he thought darkly to himself that he’d left him at home making paella.

He’d driven a bit safer back to the nearest bar, not wanting to accidentally kill four college students in a fiery high-speed collision. The boy who’d recognized the car got to ride shotgun, and he’d beamed the whole way, complimenting the interior finishings.

They sat on the patio and Will paid for all their drinks, and when he’d pulled out the sleek matte black Swiss-account credit card, he’d gotten hooted at again and they’d all inspected it. It became the general consensus that Will had got himself ‘totally set up’ and the boys tried to talk Will into tips of how to do likewise. One of the girls had laughed and dismissed this endeavor.

“Well, step one is probably ‘look like this’.” And she reached up and removed Will’s glasses, tipsy as she was, and she gaped at him. “Jesus Christ, you  _ aren’t  _ really an investment banker, are you? Tell the truth; you were a model and she absconded with you right in the middle of a show, right?”

Will tried to calm the rising panic that they might recognize him, laughing off her comment and reaching for his sunglasses back. These kids were from the States, and not that far from Baltimore at that. They could easily have seen him on Tattlecrime, or on newspapers from Hannibal’s trial.  Hell, his own trial.

Fortunately, none of them seemed to come to a grand realization, and one of the boys slapped his hand on the table and announced he was going to abandon studying classics and become a rent boy. Will told him to be careful because it was hard on the lower back, and this got dirty sniggers from everyone else at the table.

           When Will left them, he gave them with a huge wad of euros the keep them well and truly inebriated for the evening, and hopefully for a taxi to their hotel. He ignored their pleas for his cell number and full name so they ‘could all hang out again’, instead waving them away with an order of shots of whiskey. This distracted them enough he was able to slip away unhindered.

The drive back to Athens was considerably more sedate than his hurried escape, but he needed  _ time _ . Time to consider, to actually think about what he was going to do when he got home.

If she was just there for lunch, Arabella couldn’t still be there, could she? No. She would have gone home, and Hannibal would be…probably cooking something. Making his bread dough, maybe. Perhaps reading in the living room with a glass of wine.

Just the image of Hannibal sitting in his chair, looking up at Will over his glasses when he came in the door, made Will feel choked on his own windpipe.

_ What do you want, Will? _

__ __ “Us.” Will said, voice barely a whisper in the empty car, “Just us.”

Will parked the car in the penthouse space and turned off the ignition. He closed his eyes and dropped his forehead to the leather steering wheel, letting out a long shaking breath.

He pictured walking in the door, seeing Hannibal by the island, kneading bread that would rise overnight and be baked early the next morning. He would watch his forearms flexing and rippling with each roll of his beautiful hands.

Or Hannibal would be sitting in a chair, holding a glass of wine, staring out over the dark harbor. Will would come in the door, but he wouldn’t look up. And Will…

Will inhaled sharply, and sucked his lip between his teeth.

Will would walk into the kitchen and out of Hannibal’s line of sight, circling back into the living room unseen. He would pull his shirt over his head, drop it silently to the floor, and then step out of his shorts and briefs. Entirely bare, he would cross the floor on soft, silent feet, coming up behind Hannibal in his chair.

“What, Will.” Hannibal would say without turning, swirling his wine.

Will would take the glass away from unresisting fingers, place it on the side table, and walk around to stand in front of the man in the chair, arms at his sides.

Hannibal’s eyes would dart over him, then his eyes would return to Will’s, his expression unchanged but frozen. Then his lush lower lip would twitch ever so slightly.

Slowly, with each movement as cautious as a newborn fawn, Will would put a hand on the arm of the chair, then the other. Not breaking the incandescent gaze that bored into his sockets, he would lift one knee and place it beside Hannibal on the chair, then slowly do the same with the other. Using his core to support him, he would slide his hands up the arms and the back of the chair, leaning down as he straddled Hannibal’s lap.

Hannibal’s face would tilt back as Will moved over top of him, so close their noses brush.

“I want you…to have what you want. All of it.” Will would say, his breath and words unsteady. He would take one of Hannibal’s hands, lean back slightly and place it gently over the pink scar that bisected his abdomen.

“ _ Please _ .” Will would say.

And Hannibal would comply.

Will’s eyes snapped open. He sat up, the leather of the car seat squeaking slightly. His heart was hammering, his mouth watering and his cock treacherously hard.

Oh, he wanted. He wanted,  _ wanted, WANTED. _

Will ran his hands through his curls, then got abruptly out of the car. He slammed the door, only locking it on instinct rather than conscious thought, and made for the front door. The doorman gave him the usual vaguely judging look, but let him in fast enough. Will hit the elevator call button, then folded his arms, tucking his shaking hands into his armpits to hold them still.

Heart hammering, he rode the elevator to the penthouse level. He stepped out into the little corridor, with its little chair and vase of calla lilies that Hannibal insisted on being real, not plastic.

Will unlocked the front door, and took a few moments to breathe before opening it and stepping inside. It smelled so familiar, like exotic cologne and cooking, that he let his eyes close to savor the smell.

Will toed off his Birkenstocks and leaned into the condo, peering into the living room.

It was empty.

Will took a deep breath that was supposed to be centering but only made him more aware of how hard and fast his heart was going. He walked deeper in, peering around. There was no noise coming from the kitchen, but the sound system was on, quietly playing Nat King Cole.

Will stepped into the kitchen. It was devoid of cooking mess, which made sense, because Hannibal was fastidiously clean. But it was also devoid of Hannibal.

Will thought he should be calming down, but anxiety was making his heart race even faster and louder. He saw the screen door was closed to the patio, not the glass door, and it was ajar about an inch.

Will neared it, and as he did, he heard the quiet noise.

He stopped walking, and tilted his head. The noise came again, louder this time. It was a breathy noise, quiet and…intimate. It was barely audible above the music.

“ _ Like a song of love that clings to me, how the thought of you does things to me.” _

Will stepped up to the door and took the handle in his fingers to try open it, and looked out as he did so.

Arabella, as it turned out, had not left. On the contrary, she had apparently stayed long enough so go for a nighttime swim, leaving a trail of clothing across the pool deck. Hannibal had apparently joined her, because a white t-shirt was draped over the back of a reclining deck chair.

Leading up to the pool chair were wet footprints, and on the pool chair, Hannibal and Arabella were fucking.

Arabella was on her back, her dark, wet hair splayed across the upholstery, knees bent and thighs squeezing tight to Hannibal’s tanned sides. Her lapis pendant was sliding askew on her chest as she gasped, clutching Hannibal’s mouth to her throat with one hand, while sinking her fingers into the meat of his ass with the other and pulling him deeper into her.

But Will wasn’t looking at Arabella. His eyes were locked on the man above her, on his naked body, brown from the sun, glistening with sweat and water droplets that trickled down the deep furrow of his spine as it undulated, each thrust tightening and pulling the muscles across his scapulae and ribs. The fibres of the muscles on the top of his shoulders and along his arms stood out in high relief as he gripped the edge of the chair for leverage. Hannibal’s body dipped as he shifted, shoving into her as she arced her back then withdrawing with a sinuous roll of his spine. When she brought both hands down to his ass and dragged him in, he fucked into her hard enough to make her cry out and sink her nails into his flesh. 

Hannibal’s hair was dripping wet, hanging about his face and obscuring it as he ducked to lick at the side of her neck.      

Will’s lungs expelled a breath, and dragged another in. The air felt like fire.

Fury unfolded in him, crimson and snarling. It eclipsed everything; his life, his desire, his doomed soul. It burned it all away, scorching every surface it came into contact with to white ash. In that moment, Will was a creature of nothing but flame and hatred.

In less than two seconds, he was back out the door of the condo. He rode the elevator down to the lobby, no longer shaking but  _ vibrating. _ His eyes blinked slowly, unseeing, burning only the image of Hannibal and  _ that woman _ into every surface he looked at.

He strode through the lobby, and the doorman took one look at his face and paled. He opened the door hastily, leaping aside and averting his gaze as Will blew past.

 

Distance and time passed in a blurred rush as Will stalked along the docks of the Piraeus, up the little steps and towards the little house by the waterfront. The lights were on inside, and when Will kicked the door open, it exploded inward, shattering a lamp and upsetting a table.

The harbormaster was watching a decrepit television from a tattered armchair, and he was only halfway to his feet before Will was upon him.

The struggle was brief but violent, the man flailing and hitting Will in the mouth with his elbow and putting his teeth through his lip. Will snarled like a feral dog, the pain only feeding the roaring fire that was engulfing him. He grabbed the man’s wrist and wrenched it around, and when the man howled, Will smiled a bloody Cheshire grin and lurched forward. He seized the man’s hair with his free hand and yanked his head back to expose his throat, then pulling his lips back, sank his teeth into the man’s throat. The man’s trachea buckled between his teeth, and Will pulled back, ripping free arteries and veins as he did so. The man gurgled and flailed, but blood was gushing out of the gaping hole, and as Will dropped him to the floor, he was already weakening.

Will stood over the dying man, chest heaving, blood slicking his entire upper body, face and arms. He let the chunk of flesh and gristle fall from between his teeth, gore dripping from his mouth. He took a long shuddering breath, but the fire wasn’t banked. It was still burning,  _ raging _ for more, more, more.

Will spun on his feet, eyes lancing around the dingy building for a tool, any tool. His eyes lit on a cleaver attached to the wall by a magnet strip. He seized it and turned back to the body on the ground.

And he set to work.

Some hour later, Will carried a ruined husk of a human down to the shore. The tide was going out, and even as he waded in, the current was sucking at him. He dropped the body to the black churning surface, which swallowed it instantly like a starving mouth. Will dipped himself in the ocean, rinsing the blood from his skin, then waded back to the beach, climbed the shore back to the house and retrieved a few items. He walked back along the docks, hearing a few late night parties on the yachts but not looking up. He stopped by a garbage bin, reached in and pulled out a paper McDonald’s bag, then continued on his way.

Will entered the condo via the back door, unlocked by the special code and key combination. He climbed the twenty flights of stairs, slowly and purposefully. He reached the top story, stepping into the foyer area and passing the calla lilies. He opened the door of the condo, stepped inside and let the door hush itself closed behind him.

As he stepped in, Hannibal was crossing the living room, holding his book. He was freshly showered, dressed in a light sweater and trousers, and he smelled of cypress and verbena. He looked vaguely surprised at Will’s entrance, but the expression darkened immediately.

Will was drenched and shirtless; he had used his shirt to tie bricks to the corpse to achieve neutral buoyancy. There was blood still smeared over his body and hands, and certainly still dried on his face. In his hands he held a cleaver, hastily cleaned, and the paper McDonald’s bag, through the bottom of which blood was seeping.

“Will. What have you done?” Hannibal said quietly, placing his book on the back of a couch. He stepped closer and stopped. His eyes were black.

Will dropped the cleaver with a clatter, and the tossed the paper bag at the other man. Hannibal caught it deftly, hesitating a moment before unrolling the top and peering inside. He paused again, and then looked back up at Will.

“You could have it for breakfast.” Will said dryly, voice flat.

Hannibal stared at him, then without a hint of ceremony, dropped the bag to the white marble floor. It splatted.

Hannibal stepped over it and approached Will, stopping about two strides away.

“I’d give you mine, but I’m afraid I’m still using it.” Will hissed.

Hannibal’s mouth was hanging slightly open, just short of snarling at him.

“If I wanted to take your heart from you, Will, I would.”

Will leaned in, and lowered his voice. “ _ Try me.” _

__ __ Will barely had time to react before Hannibal launched himself at him. They toppled backwards over a couch, Hannibal grabbing Will by the hair and throat,  _ again _ . They rolled off the couch, knocking a side table flying when Will tried to kick and was arm-barred into the floor for his trouble.

Hannibal was pinning him down, hair fallen entirely out of its ponytail. His forearm was shoved into Will’s neck, his free hand twisting Will’s wrist until almost snapping.

Will glared up at him, defiant and panting.

“Fu…fuck you. You can’t even kill me, can you? Cuz if you do, you’ll be killing the only fucking person alive who... would stay with you of their own volition….and still know what kind of monster you are.” Will wheezed, choking and coughing roughly.

Hannibal growled down at him, his own breathing quick with exertion.

“I,” Will coughed, “I hate you.” He spat a mouthful of his own blood from his reopened lip onto Hannibal’s cheek.

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed, then he descended. He kissed Will, hard and sharp, his teeth sliding into the wound on the inside of Will’s lip.  Will didn’t kiss back, he just growled like Hannibal had and tried to bite.

After a moment, Hannibal withdrew, his face only an inch or two from Will’s.

“You’re a cruel, wicked thing, aren’t you?” he said, voice almost inaudible.

“You ruined my life.” Will said, and wrenched his wrist away from Hannibal’s grip.

Hannibal got up off Will. He stood, looking down at the younger man, his face utterly blank. He wiped the blood off his face with one hand, and looked at the smear on his palm.

“Go to bed, Will.” He said, without looking back at him, and he left the living room, ignoring the red bag on the floor.

Will let his head fall back onto the carpet, chest heaving. He licked his lips, and they tasted like blood and Hannibal.

After a moment, he inhaled and yelled at the top of his lungs, broken and miserable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unforgettable by Nat King Cole; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aXjdMV7SOfE


	7. I Am Jack's Deus Ex Machina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will runs into an old friend.  
> Hannibal is Hannibal.

           Will woke up around eleven the next morning, in blood smeared sheets.

He didn’t really remember going to bed, or falling asleep. It was all a haze of retched, angry apathy.

He sat up slowly, feeling the aches and pains of killing and mutilating a man, and then fighting with Hannibal, as if they were occurring in a body adjacent to his but not attached. He got out of bed, rolling one shoulder. Then he found himself looking at the painting above the bed.

It was of a Grecian landscape, including a hilltop temple ruin. Will stared at it for a moment, then reached up and removed it from its hook.

It was a big painting, about the size of a poster. It was beautifully done, too, and signed in the corner. Will’s eyes scanned it.

Then he brought it down hard over his bent knee.

Its frame broke and the canvas tore, which he helped along by tugging hard and ripping it messily in half.

Why did I do that, Will wondered, as he looked down at the pieces on the floor. Because I feel like the guy in Fight Club; I wanted to destroy something beautiful.

Will stepped over the pieces of the ruined painting and went into his bathroom. He glanced at himself in the mirror and saw his face; his mouth was a bit swollen, but other than that, it was intact.

His eyes, on the other hand, looked dead.

_ I am Jack’s crippling self-loathing. _

Will got dressed in whatever he could find and wandered aimlessly out into the condo.

The bloody McDonald’s bag was no longer in the foyer, and the disturbed furniture had been righted. The cleaver, as Will discovered, had been washed and was now sitting by all the other knives.

Will’s cereal was not, however, on the bar.

Will stared around the empty kitchen for a moment longer, then turned and went down the little hall he never ventured into: the hall to Hannibal’s room.

The door, Will saw as he approached, was wide open. As he got close enough to look through, his heart shuddered out of apathy and began to hammer in his chest.

The bed was made exquisitely, even decorated with throw pillows. There were no clothes strewn about as there were in Will’s room, and there were no random items like coins or pocket knives on top of the wardrobe or dressing tables.

There was also no Hannibal.

Will looked down at the line between the marble of the hall and the plush carpet of the bedroom, then took a large and purposeful step over it. Once he was in the room, it seemed less daunting.

Will let his eyes slide over every surface, his jaw set.

Everything was perfectly neat and tidy, and it made Will want to scream. It also made him ache profoundly deep in his chest cavity, as if  _ his _ heart had been wrenched from its moorings.

Will opened the door to the walk-in closet, flicking on the light as he did so. While his room also had one just like it, his was virtually empty, whereas Hannibal’s was already brimming. Even his shoe rack was full, which Will knew was a sensitive subject. Will had seen the selection of fully custom Italian loafers, brogues, oxfords, saddle shoes and god knew how many other types, that had been taken from Hannibal’s Baltimore home when it was seized by the FBI. The loss of this collection apparently still rankled to this day.

Will inhaled deeply and closed his eyes.

It smelled of Hannibal in here, strong and rich and horrible and wonderful.

Will left the closet, Hannibal’s room, and after a moment of consideration, the condo. He couldn’t be there anymore, and he didn’t know when he would be able to make himself come back.

       Maybe he wouldn’t come back at all.

 

 

        Will wandered the harbor front aimlessly. He had done this several times before, but then he’d been in a good mood, enjoying the sights and sun and the general hustle and bustle of the docks and tourists.

          Now, he was just floating along in the ocean of Americans, Brits, miscellaneous Europeans, people from all over Asia, and even the odd Australian. But he didn’t  _ belong  _ with any of them. He was legally dead, he knew, but now he actually  _ felt _ like it. He was a separate entity, adrift and alone.

         He realized as he meandered through the crowds that his eyes were scanning for something, and he almost snarled when he realized he was unconsciously seeking Hannibal. 

        Fuck him. Fuck all of it.

         He didn’t know what he’d been expected, bringing that man’s heart back to Hannibal. He’d hoped to illicit… _ some  _ reaction, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Jealousy? Anger? He’d gotten that, sort of. But not really.

         Will wanted Hannibal to rage at him. To be angry, ruthless. A murderer. But instead, he’d been  _ Hannibal. _

        Of course.

          Will was in a swankier area now, with little cafes and boutiques lining the road. Little tables were populated almost invariably by tourists, with shopping bags and zip-off pants and sunburns. Will realized he looked almost local now, he was so brown and wore non-descript clothing. At least he had his Orioles hat.

It was in this scanning of the crowds that a very cold and hard hand clapped around his brain.

Will froze mid-stride, every muscle suddenly twitching in anticipation of flight.

Will let his eyes snap from one face to the next, gauging and reading the expressions that looked back.

His heart was beating as fast as a hummingbird’s. Everything in his body was waiting for a movement, a slight twitch to spring into action.

But no SWAT team descended from the shadows of the cafés. No passerby suddenly leapt on him with handcuffs, yelling Miranda rights.

Will’s head slowly pivoted, seeking out the shape that had triggered the cold avalanche of primal panic in his hindbrain. His peripheral vision had only just grazed past it before, but now he focused on it, zooming in and seizing it.

Will let out a shaky breath and drew in another.

_ I am Jack’s ridiculous sense of irony. _

Will started walking again, angling his trajectory now. He passed through a large group of tables with umbrellas, all arranged along the waterfront. People around him laughed riotously and bumped him, but he paid them no mind. He stared at his goal, jaw set.

Will ducked past the edge of an umbrella, coming to stand right behind the seated figure reclined in the weathered plastic chair, looking out over the water and drinking a beer.

Will took another deep breath. Despite his raging, furious hatred of the man, he let Hannibal’s calm envelop him. He could keep the better characteristics of the man in his mind to use when necessary; Hannibal owed him at least that much.

Will tilted his head on a slight angle and let the cannibal’s self-assured smirk play at the corner of his lips.

“Hello, Jack.”

  
  


Jack Crawford went completely still in his chair, the beer in his hand frozen mid lift. Will heard his sharp intake of breath.

He slowly put his beer down on its coaster, and sat motionless for another moment. Then, slowly, he rotated in his seat, and looked up at Will.

Will raised one eyebrow but said nothing.

Jack had lost weight. He’d always been an imposing man, but now he was just slightly…smaller. He was dressed in light, simple clothing and a straw sunhat that suited him remarkably well.

His expression was obvious shock, his eyes wide, mouth fallen open. It changed quickly, however, melding swiftly into a look of both relief and anger.

“Will.” He breathed.

Will stepped around Jack’s chair, pulling out the one opposite and taking a seat.

The man just stared at him.

“What’re you doing here, Jack?” Will said, lacing his fingers together and resting them on the table in front of him.

Jack sputtered. “What am  _ I… _ Will, you’re alive, for god’s sake!”

“Yes.” Will gave Jack a look, “I am.”

“ _ How _ , Will. How did you do it? The whole goddamn world thinks you’re dead.” Anger was starting to build up in Jack and overflow.

“The devil’s on my side, Jack. You should know that by now.”

Jack bristled.

“Yes,  _ the devil _ . He’s alive too, I’m presuming?”

Will ignored this.

“Why are you here? To arrest me? Keep an eye on me? Or did someone send you an anonymous tip?”

Jack considered Will now, examining his face almost as minutely as Hannibal liked to do.

“What makes you think I’m here in any official capacity at all, Will?” Jack leaned back and took up his beer again, taking a long sip. “I retired, Will. Or rather, I was given two options, and retiring was the better of the two.”

Will’s eyes narrowed.

“What are you trying to convince me of, Jack? That you just happened to show up in the same country, city and district as we were hiding in?”

“We? So he  _ is _ here somewhere?”

Will glowered.

“I’m not trying to convince you of anything, Will. I have nothing to lose, quite frankly. So you can believe what you want to believe.” Jack drained the last of his beer.

Will let out a long breath, removed his hat, threw it on the table and ran an exasperated hand through his hair.

“So this is just a coincidence, that’s what you’re telling me.” Will said.

The waitress from the café arrived then, smiling an enormous smile. Jack tapped his glass and held up two fingers, gesturing between himself and Will. Will rolled his eyes, and the waitress smiled even bigger and nodded before retreating.

“I’m not telling you anything, Will. Hell, I just spent the last eight months thinking you were dead, so I wouldn’t follow my lead on anything.” Jack leaned back in his chair, “We dragged the coast for your body for two weeks. I had dive teams, search and rescue dogs and helicopters. Did you really go over the cliff? Or was the blood over the edge something you and Dr. Lecter set up?”

Will frowned. He wasn’t sure how much he wanted to disclose, but he was also coming to the realization he was probably going to have to kill Jack Crawford, so what the hell.

“We...fell…off the cliff. And I don’t remember much after that. We weren’t in the best shape, exactly.” Will finished snidely.

“No. I can’t imagine you could have been, considering the drop was about eighty feet.”

Will’s eyes closed. His back and shoulders ached just thinking about it.

“And your face? That happen then too?” Jack asked.

Will re-opened his eyes and twisted his lips.

“My face and I are my business.”

Jack gave a humorless laugh.

“You’re still a pain in the ass, at least there’s that about you I can predict.”

Will’s anger roiled subcutaneously, but he was able to swallow it.

“Ya, and you’re still a pushy son of a bitch. Good to see things don’t change.”

And then, as he glanced past Jack’s face, Will saw Hannibal.

He was walking through the crowd, which magically parted for him like the Red Sea did for Moses. Everything about him, from his bearing to his easy, long strides made people move out of his way before they even realized they were doing so.

He was approaching from an oblique angle behind Jack, and Will tried hard not to stare at him too obviously, but it was difficult.

He was wearing yet another pair of bespoke, hand stitched, indigo dyed blue jeans, one of eight pairs he’d recently purchased for around six hundred euros each. They clung to his hips in a manner so utterly sublime, it was as if Jesus himself had descended just to oversee their design. He was also wearing (Will’s teeth ground together) a faded black t-shirt with the cover-art of the Ozzy Osbourne album ‘The Ultimate Sin’ on it.

When they had first been on the run in London, newly healed and comfortable with one another, Will had ducked out of their rental car and run into the nearest clothing store, trying to find something not stained with blood for he and Hannibal to wear on the plane to Amsterdam. They’d had limited funds at this point, this being before Hannibal had accessed his hidden accounts, and they were desperate. Will had eyeballed two shirts, a pair of cargo pants and some corduroys, paid and run back out of the store in under two minutes. They’d parked around the corner in an alley, climbed out and changed. Will had put on his own top (the Grateful Dead shirt he’d worn only a few days previous), then glanced over at Hannibal and gulped. Will had figured that with being in prison and unable to really gain or maintain his usual muscle mass, Hannibal would be approximately the same size as Will now, and so Will had bought them the same size of shirt.

The truth, though, was that the shirt pulled tight across Hannibal’s chest, only accentuating how much larger he really was than Will. His pecs stood out, as did his biceps and broad shoulders. Will had found himself blushing hard as he’d jumped into the corduroys, and tried not to think about it.

Will hadn’t seen him wear the shirt since London, but now, as he strode luxuriantly through the little tables, with his messy ponytail and clubmasters, he looked like sex on legs. Long, slender legs.

As if in response to Will’s loud and furious thoughts, Hannibal stopped. He scented the air, head swiveling, and zeroed in on Will and Jack’s table. Will saw the slow smile break onto his face, and Will jerked his head away, not wanting to see, but also not really wanting to  _ not _ see.

“You can still come home, Will. If you give him up, they’ll cut you a deal.”

Will’s eyes slid back to Jack slowly, looking at him through the corner of his eye.

“You have no authority anymore, Jack. You can’t promise me that.” Will turned his face away, eyes dragging briefly across the figure wading purposefully through the crowd. “What makes you think I want to go back at all?”

Jack’s eyebrows rose slowly.

“Well, for one thing, your wife and son are-”

“No longer my wife and son. I’m legally dead. I have a copy of my own obituary saved on my cell phone, just to reinforce that fact. I’m pretty sure being dead means I’m no longer married.”

“I still consider myself married, Will.” Jack said quietly.

Will immediately regretted his words, grimacing sharply.

“I’m…. sorry, Jack, I didn’t…I forgot. Sorry.”

Jack considered him, eyes searching Will’s face. He knew he looked like ten pounds of shit in a five-pound bag.

Groaning, Will scrubbed his left eye with his palm. With the right, he saw Hannibal stop his approach. He had caught the waitress gently by the arm, interrupting her as she carried a tray with two full beers on it towards Will and Jack’s table. Will saw Hannibal say something, gesture between himself and them, and then pull out his wallet. He placed a 50-euro bill on the tray and took up the two sweating beverages, inclining his head to the waitress graciously. She blushed and skittered away like a school girl, and Hannibal continued on his way.

“You know, Will, it’s strange seeing you so tanned.” Jack said, tapping his fingers on the tabletop, “I’m still used to that washed out blue colour you always were back in Baltimore. I’d say you look good, but you look like hell, to be honest with you.”

Will gave Jack a twisted, wry smile. He didn’t respond; at that moment, the advancing figure with the beers stopped, just behind Jack’s seated figure.

“Generally, it is considered rude to point out someone’s unwell appearance, particularly after a long separation.”

Will watched Jack’s face. It didn’t flinch or tense, just very slowly solidified into a neutral expression.

“Hello, Dr. Lecter.” Jack said. He didn’t turn or move, just looked at Will, who returned his stare.

Hannibal leaned around Jack, placing the beers in front of the two seated men. He took a chair from an adjacent empty table and placed it between Jack and Will, before sitting astride it backwards with his arms resting over the back. He was a picture of relaxation.

Jack watched him take his seat, jaw set even more squarely than it usually was.

“How have you been, Jack?” Hannibal said, sliding his sunglasses up onto his head. The sides of his eyes were crinkled in amusement, his lush lips wide in a subtly delighted smile. Will realized this was probably one of the most entertaining things to happen to Hannibal since breaking out of prison.

Jack’s eyes were raking over Hannibal, then he turned back to Will, as if expecting an explanation. Will offered him nothing, and Jack’s eyes went back to the languishing figure beside him.

“I’ve been well, doctor. Although it would appear I’ve caught you on a laundry day.”

Hannibal’ smile widened. He looked like a cat that had not only  _ eaten  _ the canary, but had simmered it in a superb cranberry balsamic reduction with gorgonzola and mission figs.

“It is only right, when one is born again from the ashes of their old life, to assume a new persona. Clothing is the skin of that persona, and makes the portrayal that much more convincing.”

Jack snorted and looked back at Will.

“Yes, it’s him alright.”

Will gave a humorless smile. His chest and jaw were aching at Hannibal’s proximity, in both pure rage and unmitigated desire.

“Why did you choose to retire to Athens, Jack? I would have thought a man with your proclivities would have chosen Florence.”

Jack picked up his beer and took a brief sip, then considered the foam sitting at the top pensively.

“My last visit to Florence left a bitter taste in my mouth, I’m afraid.” He glanced at Hannibal as he took another sip, “How’s the leg?”

“Spectacular. And how is your throat?” Hannibal was genuinely grinning now. He was definitely having  _ fun. _

Jack ignored the question. The rough scar on the side of his neck was still highly visible above the collar of his light linen shirt.

The sour moment was broken by the waitress, who reappeared with a glass of white wine, beaming at Hannibal and blushing. Will glared at her as she fawned over him, simmering down once she’d retreated.

“How have you two been getting along well?” Jack said once she was out of earshot, “It can’t be that well, considering I haven’t seen any news about artfully displayed bodies missing organs. Not locally, anyway.”

Will stiffened slightly, but refused to look at Hannibal or Jack. He looked out over the sparkling blue Aegean and said nothing.

“There is no other whose company I enjoy or desire more than Will’s, Jack, if that’s what you’re asking.” In his periphery, Will saw Hannibal turn to look at him, smiling sweetly. “For his part, Will is still trying to wade through the labyrinth that is his mind, an endeavor which I assure you is neither easy nor glamorous.”

“A labyrinth you put there, you mean.” Jack said, plucking at the edge of his coaster. Will’s scowl deepened when he noticed it had an octopus on it.

Hannibal chortled slightly. “While I’m sure I am the monster that lurks in the maze, I am more than certain it is you who laid that maze in place, Jack. You know it as well as any; it plagues you even now.”

Jack opened his mouth for a retort, but it was overshadowed when a voice yelled across the patio.

“Hey! Stuart!”

Will blinked and turned in his chair, his decidedly poisonous mood shifted by surprise.

He blanched when he saw the college students from yesterday, all grinning at him and approaching through the throng of tables. They were all wearing dark sunglasses, as befit awful hangovers.

“Some friends of yours?” Hannibal said, smirking delightedly.

Will caught his eye only for a second, and it was like being unexpectedly hit with a full-body defibrillator. He jerked his head back to the advancing group of kids so hard and fast he pulled his neck muscles.

Will felt panic rising, and he hissed at Hannibal out of the corner of his lips.

“Put your fucking sunglasses down. They’ll recognize you.”

Hannibal did as Will bade, still smirking as he replaced his glasses over his eyes.

Will knew that generally, people didn’t tend to remember faces of serial killers. But then, not all serial killers looked like Hannibal. And even fewer of them had had their faces on the cover of TIME magazine.

It had been about ten months before the Red Dragon had started killing, right around the time Frederick had started hyping up his book,  _ Hannibal the Cannibal _ . Will hadn’t been told about it, and so had no warning when he’d come down the stairs one morning for breakfast, before Molly and Walter were up, and shuffled through yesterday’s mail as the coffee percolated.

He’d slid the National Geographic aside and went ramrod straight when he’d seen the glossy cover exposed underneath.

The only caption on the cover besides the main title was “The Devil and Dr. Lecter.” It was overlaid below a head-on portrait of Hannibal’s face. His head was tilted slightly down, his eyes up, glowing hard and burning bright gold and dark rich jasper. His jaw was set, his cheekbones stark as day and night. And his lips…across his lips ghosted the slightest of slight smiles.

Will had stared at the picture, his heart desperately flailing in his chest like a trapped starling. That  _ face.  _ He hadn’t seen it in any capacity whatsoever since leaving the courtroom that last day. He hadn’t looked at Hannibal, chained and straight jacketed on a specialized trolley, not once while they’d been in court together. He’d felt the man’s eyes on him the entire time like a hot breeze, but had never reciprocated until the very last day of sentencing.  Will hadn’t listened to the verdict, only remembering the part where the judge had said “…and you will serve forty-three consecutive life sentences…”. He hadn’t bothered to speak to anyone when the court had adjourned, he’d just weaved his way through the loud and excited crowd, and as he’d been about to slip through the door, he’d paused and turned back….and seen  _ that face _ . It shone through the multitude like a spotlight in the darkest of nights, it’s expression exactly like the one on the cover of the magazine. The one on the cover of the magazine; exactly like the one that had been levelled at Will that day in the courtroom.

Will ground his teeth together, and tried to smile in warm greeting to the students as they gathered around the table. Hopefully, none of them were avid TIME readers.

“You look like you’re in better shape than we are today.” The more outspoken of the two boys said, looking over his glasses at Will. “It took all the energy we had to get out of bed this morning.”

“Where’s Mrs. Robinson?” one of the girls asked, grinning. Will for some reason thought her name was Heather. Holly?

“Uh. Hah.” Will laughed awkwardly, “She’s uh…shopping in town today.”

Will glanced over at Hannibal and Jack. Hannibal was showing off his fully-grown crocodile smile…the kind of smile that sat at the bottom of the Zambezi, seized wildebeests by the leg and dragged them screaming into the depths to eat them whole. Jack was simply watching through narrowed eyes, lips slightly thinned.

“These are my…friends, Theo and…Jack.” Will said, trying not to actually look at either of them.

The kids waved politely, as kids do.

“Stuart gave us a ride in the Maserati yesterday.” The first boy supplied helpfully, beaming around at the table.

“Ah. Of course he did.” Hannibal was looking at Will, but Will knew he couldn’t let himself look back.

“They’re here on a dig with Columbia university.” Will said quietly, running his finger up and down the dripping side of his untouched beer. “I took them out for drinks yesterday while you were…busy.” Will had to fight to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“I’d love to hear about this dig; you are all more than welcome to sit, if you would like.” Hannibal gestured grandly at the table in front of him.

The students dispersed among them, two sitting on the empty side of the table opposite Hannibal, between Jack and Will, one turning a chair around from another table, and the car-loving boy (Derrick?) sat on a table, his legs swinging. 

“So. Columbia has a good classics department, does it?” Hannibal said, smiling around at the assembled youths like a benevolent saint.

“Oh, yeah. It’s really good. Lots of grants and stuff.” the other girl said (her name was probably Amy), “We didn’t even have to pay travel.”

“The American college system, if one can afford it, truly is a marvel of opportunity.”

Will, who was too busy trying to remember what bullshit backstory details he’d unloaded yesterday, didn’t notice the one boy, who was sitting directly across from Hannibal, staring openly with a strange look on his face.

“Where...do I know you from?” he said, looking mildly confused, “I feel like you’re super familiar. Are you famous and I’m forgetting or something?”

Will choked on his tongue, shooting Jack a look. Jack was watching the proceedings with a dark, unamused expression.

Will glanced at Hannibal, and saw he was beaming again. To Will’s horror, he tilted his clubmasters and examined the boy over the top of them.

“If you really are familiar with me, my young friend, perhaps you should examine more closely from where before announcing yourself. For decency sake, if not to preserve your own dignity.”

“W...what?” The kid said, looking at Will in confusion. Will kept his face a careful blank. He had no idea where Hannibal was going with this.

“Well,” Hannibal said, his face splitting into an even wider wolfish grin, “I’ve been an actor in the adult film industry for the past thirty six years. I always do love to meet my fans.”

Will would have laughed, any other time. The other three students all burst out laughing, tears of mirth pouring down the girl’s faces. But Will just closed his eyes for a moment, trying to soothe his aching, furious soul. When he reopened them, he saw Jack looking at him, his expression pained.

The boy, blushing furiously, glared at his friends, all of whom were unapologetically still laughing.

“I’m glad you like my work. I could sign something for you, if you wanted.” Hannibal was still grinning.

“As fun as this was,” Jack said, sliding his beer away from him, “I’m afraid I’ve got other plans today. But, here, come, sit.” He waved the unseated tabletop student over as he got to his feet, smiling invitingly.

Will stiffened, glancing at Hannibal. He didn’t really try meet his eyes, but he saw Hannibal was watching Jack as he sipped his wine, who appeared to have every intention of leaving.

Which, Will knew, there was no way they could let him do.

“Now, Jack. You can’t go running off. We’ve only just sat down.”

To people unfamiliar with Hannibal Lecter, the words would have seemed innocuous enough, even gently teasing. But to Will and certainly to Jack, the comment was barbed as a fishhook.

“Oh, no, really. I’ve got to run.” Jack tried to look unconcerned, but Will could feel the tension pouring off him, and he was absorbing it like a sponge. Every muscle in Will’s body was primed.

“It’s been nice catching up, boys.” Jack smiled at them both, his eyes lingering on Will, then he ducked past an umbrella and was on his way. He moved through the maze of tables quickly, ducking and weaving, like a man trying his best not to run for his life.

Will finally let himself look right at Hannibal, who was looking right back.

“Shall we?” Hannibal said quietly, and Will’s brain suddenly flashed back to that moment on the acropolis, where’d they’d stood side by side, comfortable and companionable. And, Will knew now, horribly in love.  _ God _ , it hurt to remember.

Will nodded sharply, swallowing the agony that had been trying valiantly to in turn swallow  _ him _ . The pain could wait.

Will and Hannibal got to their feet simultaneously. Will turned to the confused looking college students, trying to look placating.

“Please. Stay. One of you can have my beer, and Theo’s wine.”

“Uh. Okay?” Heather/Holly said, smirking at Will but looking unconcerned.

“We have a few issues to attend to.” Hannibal said as he tucked his chair back into the table he’d taken it from.

Will stepped out from under the low umbrella, ignoring the confused questions being aimed at him, and began hunting after Jack’s retreating figure, already almost two hundred yards away. Hannibal fell into easy step beside him.

“Are you in habit of making friends with barely of-age tourists, Will?” Hannibal sounded amused, but Will didn’t respond, just clenched his jaw tightly closed.

After a moment, Hannibal said, “And Mrs. Robinson?”

“They assumed I was a rich woman’s rent boy. I let them, because it was easier than correcting them. If you haven’t seen ‘The Graduate’, don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, I’ve seen the film. I just wanted to hear your explanation…koo-koo-kachoo.”

Will stopped walking and scowled nastily at the man beside him.

“You’re such a fucking asshole. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not, but I’m not in the mood for your goddamn sadistic needling right now,  _ thanks. _ ”

“Indeed.” Hannibal’s lips twisted into a wry and delighted smirk.

“And what about you! What was all that crap about the fucking ‘adult film industry’?”

“Worked superbly, did it not? According to one woman who sent me several letters while I was incarcerated, there is an adult film star who looks quite a bit like me. Apparently, she would watch his films and imagine it was me having intercourse with her. She exhibited quite interesting pathology, though I never did get a chance to meet with her to speak about her proclivities.” Apparently Hannibal interpreted (or pretended to) Will’s slack-jawed stare as an invitation to continue, because he added, “I’ve looked him up. He goes by Alphonse Pounder, although I’m quite sure it is a pseudonym. And he does indeed look quite like me, admittedly a few years younger.”

Will glowered at the other man.

“Play this game all you want. Jack’s about to get away and tell the whole goddamn world you’re alive and on the lam.”

Hannibal sighed, seeming to begrudge abandoning his fun, and then closed his eyes. He sniffed deeply, then turned to Will.

“Our Mr. Crawford is an interesting blend of cheap soap and expensive cologne, gifted to him I believe as a retirement gift. By Agent Price, if I’m any judge of predilections for scent.”

“And how does this help us, precisely?”

“I can, as they say, follow my nose. But you, Will.  _ You  _ have kept your remarkable mind carefully curtailed, chained and kept under lock and key. You know as well as I that you could track him easier than I could, or anyone else on earth, for that matter. All you have to do is open the door, Will.”

Will shuddered. He could feel the words slithering around him, slippery and warm, teasing and maddening. Loving and dangerous.

They hadn’t been around each other, speaking together, this much since the night where the girls had come over for dinner. It hurt Will like a hand reaching between his ribs and spreading them apart.

“Fine.” He whispered weakly.

Will closed his eyes and let the pendulum swing. The inrush of information was maddening and confusing, even worse than it had been before when he had encephalitis. He’d forgotten how to omit and occlude, and it took him a moment to concentrate on the one person. Fortunately, he was quite familiar with the psyche he was assuming. He exhaled a long, shaky breath and spoke.

“I’m trying to be evasive, but I know I’m being followed by people who are very good at unraveling evasion. My focus is to get as much space between myself and them as possible before I make any real plans. I am both afraid and furious. It is this anger that is pushing me along, because I know that if I stop to consider, the reality of my situation will sink in. I know my prospects are slim, but I am determined, and with this determination, I will try to take down at least one of them with me.” Will opened his eyes, his fists clenched tightly. “I want to kill both Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham. I know it is likely my only chance of survival.”

           Will could feel the wide, exorbitant smile that was being aimed at him. He didn’t want to look at it.

“He’ll have a weapon stashed somewhere.” Will said, eyes straight ahead, “Because he’s Jack Crawford, and he’s a suspicious bastard.”

“And where will this weapon be?” whispered the demon on his shoulder, it’s breath ghosting across his ear and raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

“Somewhere both public and private. I…I think we’ll have to follow him, though. For now.”

“After you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)  
> Thank you all for all the lovely comments!! They make my friggin day!!!


	8. Bella's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal and Will follow Jack.  
> Will figures it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, my darlings, this is a short one... but to be fair, the finale chapter on Monday is a MONSTER (about 10k) so be excited :)  
> Thank you again for all the lovely comments. They make my whole friggin day!!

Tracking Jack through the crowd was easy enough. Looking through his eyes, Will could see possible escape routes, eliminating others as they passed. Jack spent twenty-five years at the FBI, his training detailed and in depth. He knew how to evade capture as well as any serial killer or murderer.

But he had two murderers following him now. One who was intimately familiar with human thought patterns, the FBI and able to assume anyone’s point of view…and the other, the slipperiest and more notorious and prolific serial killer in recorded human history. Will could taste desperation in Jack’s mind, and desperation would be what lost him his fight.

When Will lost his bearings at a crossroad, he glanced at Hannibal, who obligingly took a deep sniff and tilted his head in contemplation.

“Mmm. Left, I believe.”

They waded through crowded streets, past butchers, fishmongers, produce stands and even an incense shop.

_ Trying to throw off Hannibal’s nose. _ Clever, Jack.

Will tried to concentrate again, to slip back into his mind.

_ I know my only chance is to surprise them. Once I have my weapon of choice, I will lay in wait. I have waited years for this chance, and I can wait a little while longer. _

__ __ “He’ll try sneak up on us and make the first move, if he can.” Will said, stopping in the middle of a crowded path, bordered with people hawking cheap goods. They always tried Will, but never Hannibal. The man exuded “Fuck Off” from every pore.

Will let his feet guide him through the swirling mass of humanity, letting his empathy out to run wild. It was like a bad dog, dragging him on a leash after a rabbit.

After about fifty minutes of stopping and starting, they ended up behind a row of beaten up restaurants and convenience stores. Will stood in the alleyway, brows furrowed.

“He comes here a lot.” Will said, looking up at the narrow slit of sky visible between the buildings, and then back to the beaten and cracked concrete. There were no other pedestrians to be seen. “It reminds him of home, for…some reason.”

Hannibal stepped up beside him, bumping his bare elbow to Will’s ever so slightly. Will recoiled, stepping away sharply. His touch was like a branding iron.

“We should go around to the front entrances. Perhaps there lies the answer you seek.”

Will started walking again, slipping through a narrow space between two buildings and re-emerging on the road. It was vaguely more street like, if only that there were cars on it and not just foot traffic.

Will frowned around at the storefronts. Hannibal stood beside him, like a deceptively good-natured shadow.

There was a convenience store, run down but still open. A liquor store, full of dusty bottles. A cigar shop and…

“Oh.” Will said quietly.

A restaurant, with a few plastic tables and chairs out front of it. Locals sat at them, eating various meat dishes, all of which smelled delicious. And above the door, painted right on the whitewash, was the word ‘Bella’s’.

Behind him, Hannibal chuckled quietly.

“Very nicely done, Will.”

And then he brushed past and approached the restaurant.

“Wait, no!  _ Hannibal. _ ” Will reached out and snagged Hannibal’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.

Hannibal stopped, as he had to, and looked down at where Will was tightly gripping his wrist.

Will let go, yanking his own arm back.

“He probably has a gun.” Will said gruffly, dropping his eyes to the ground.

“Yes. I know.” Hannibal said, and continued on his way.

“What do you mean,  _ you know. _ ” Will said, trailing after him.

“Jack was in law enforcement for almost three decades. It makes sense his weapon of choice would be a gun.”

“No, not  _ that _ . You know he has a gun but you’re going to just waltz in there anyway, and get shot?  _ Again.? _ ”

“I’m not going to get shot, Will.”

“Oh, good. That’s heartening.”

“Sarcasm is unbecoming of you.”

They came to a stop inside the quaint little room, surrounded on all sides by mismatched tables and chairs. It was clean, though, and smelled divine.

It was also completely devoid of Jack Crawford.

“Maybe I was wrong.” Will said, peering around.

At that moment, a woman in her mid-sixties came out of the kitchen. She saw them and immediately spouted a torrent of Greek that made Will blink.

“Uh.” Will said.

“Oh. You….er….English?” she said, waving her hands as if forming an invisible lump of dough.

“Yes, madam. I was wondering if I could use my telephone in a private area of your establishment, far from prying ears. I have to make a very sensitive phone call, and do not wish to be overheard.” Hannibal withdrew his phone from the pocket of his superb jeans, and waggled it as if for emphasis.

Her eyes widened, looking from the phone to Hannibal.

“The kitchen, in the back, perhaps. If you don’t mind.” Hannibal had turned on the charm, his smile practically melting the plastic furniture around him.

The woman nodded vaguely, stepping aside from the cloth-draped doorway into the kitchen. She beckoned them through, watching with large eyes as they passed.

Will followed Hannibal through the little kitchen, dingy and not particularly clean. Two men were cooking in huge pans over a giant grill, and another was cutting meat off a leg of lamb. They looked up when Will and Hannibal went by, looked vaguely confused, and then went back to work.

Will followed Hannibal deep into the bowels of the building, passing crates of tomatoes and carrots, until finally ending up at the back door.

It was quiet there, a strange pocket of silence. Racks upon racks of dishes and cooking utensils surrounded them.

“What are we doing, exactly?” Will hissed.

“We are waiting for Jack.”

“No. Jack is waiting for us somewhere.”

“While that may be his intention, I believe you said he would likely want his weapon  _ first,  _ yes?”

Will raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”

Wordlessly, Hannibal stepped up to an old countertop, bent at the waist (Will did  _ not _ look at the strip of bronzed bare skin that was exposed above the back of his jeans as he did so), and reached underneath.

There was the sound of tape ripping, and Hannibal straightened, holding…a 9mm handgun, police issue.

Will’s mouth dropped slightly open.

“You  _ knew?  _ What the f-”

The door beside them clicked as a key was slid into the lock outside.

“If you could hold that thought Will, I would be much obliged. And this as well, if you would.” Hannibal handed Will the pistol and stepped neatly back against the wall beside the door, so that when it opened, he would be behind it.

Will barely had time to open his mouth again before the heavy metal door opened, and Jack Crawford stepped in. He froze when he saw Will, who immediately leveled the gun at his forehead.

“Looking for something, Jack?” Will said, clicking off the safety and cocking the muzzle.

“Will.” Jack said, holding up both hands in placation, “You don’t have to do this. He’s playing you, like he always has. He’s making you think this is the only option you have, when it’s  _ not. _ ”

“I have other options? I’m aiding and abetting a wanted serial killer, Jack.”

“They  _ will  _ cut you a deal. If you give him up.” Jack carefully reached behind himself.

“No! Stop. What are you reaching for?” Will stepped closer. Panic was sparking across his nerves.

“I’m closing the door, Will. That’s all.”

Will didn’t let his eyes move to the hidden figure, revealed in his periphery as it swung closed.

With a metallic  _ clunk _ , the door caught.

In one smooth motion, Hannibal stepped up behind Jack, seizing his head and wrenching it to the side with one hand, plunging a hypodermic needle into his neck with the other. Jack surged backwards, slamming Hannibal into the door with all his body weight.

Other than a grunt of expelled air, Hannibal made no noise, just flung the needle aside and grabbed the wrist of the hand trying to grab at him. He slipped the other arm around Jack’s throat, and used one of his legs to scythe the other man off his feet. Jack got an elbow up, catching Hannibal in the mouth as they fell.

They collapsed sideways into a rack of dishes, sending them flying everywhere in a cacophonous clatter. Will lurched out of shocked inaction, spinning around and running for the kitchen. There was a door between it and the storage area, and Will slammed it shut, locking it and pulling down crates of vegetables in front.

Then, leaping over scattered carrots, he ran back to the back door.

When he rounded the corner, he saw Hannibal, sitting leaning against the wall, dabbing blood off his lip with a handkerchief, while Jack lay prone on his side on the floor, jaw slack.

“Jesus. What did you do? What did you inject him with?”

“Horse tranquilizer. Or as near as makes no difference, anyway.” Hannibal said primly, folding his kerchief and pocketing it. He got to his feet.

“So? What now?” Will said, sticking the pistol in the waistband of his pants.

“Now, we carry him to the warehouse next door.”

Will could feel something slipping. Some grip on reality. Something was wrong, like looking through someone else’s prescription glasses.

“Hannibal…”

“We can talk later, Will. At the moment, I need you to help me carry him.”

Will hesitated, watching Hannibal lift the unconscious man’s arm over his shoulder, then ducked and lifted the other. Lost weight or not, Jack was still a big dude, and carrying him out the door and across the alley, swiftly and quietly, was a tough job. Fortunately, Hannibal was apparently about as strong as a small forklift.

A building three doors down on the opposite side of the street was apparently their goal. Will let himself be steered there, and leaned against the wall, holding Jack up as Hannibal produced a set of keys and unlocked the door. They manhandled Jack inside, and Hannibal closed the door behind them with a hard thump.

Will looked around himself, and slowly dropped Jack to the ground.

It was indeed a warehouse. It was entirely gutted, with three story ceilings and exposed metal beams. Plastic sheeting separated it into sections, beyond which, Will couldn’t really see. There were open or smashed windows high above, but other than that, no way to see in or out. The floor was cracked concrete, and a line of small offices, dark and abandoned, lined one of the side walls. The whole building was large enough to store a Boeing 747 with room to spare.

“What is this place?” Will said, looking up at the high ceiling.

“My warehouse. I bought it when we first arrived.” Hannibal was dragging Jack across the floor by his armpits.

Will looked back at the figure, following as it disappeared behind plastic sheeting.

Behind the sheeting was…. well, a slaughterhouse. Not in the ‘SAW II’ sort of way, but more like a butcher’s shop. There was a stainless steel table with blood channels and an extendable tap. A drain in the floor. A rack of various knives and medical instruments of the  _ cutting _ variety. A huge overhead lamp. A circular saw on a table, and a band saw beside it.

And (Will swallowed), two huge industrial sized fridges and freezers. He knew without looking what would be in there.

“You’ve had this all along.” Will said quietly.

With a slight grunt of exertion, Hannibal dragged Jack onto a rusted metal chair.

“Yes. I have.”

Will took a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he reopened them, his jaw was clenched tight.

“You knew where his gun was. You  _ knew _ where he was going to go.”

Hannibal produced duct tape from some unknown location and began to tape Jack’s arms behind his back.

“Yes.”

“ _ Then why the fuck did you have me track him. _ ” Will snarled, taking three large steps closer.

“You have a rare and incredible talent, Will. It was unhealthy for you to be storing it away.”

“You wanted to see what would happen. That’s the truth. That’s always the goddamn truth with you.” Will was quivering with rage.

Hannibal seemed to consider this statement.

“In part, perhaps. But I more wanted the opportunity to appreciate your remarkable mind in action.”

“How did you know. How did you know where he would be going, where the gun was stashed? _How did you know_ _where I was this afternoon?_ ”

“I knew where he would be going because he goes to this restaurant once a week at least, and has the lamb and spanakopita special. I knew where he stashed his handgun because I saw him stash it. And I knew where you were because I followed you, Will.” Hannibal pulled a long strip of tape off and used it to bind Jack’s ankle to the leg of the chair.

Will realized he was on his way to hyperventilating.

“You…you…how do you know…he comes here once a week?”

“Because I also have been following  _ him _ . I’ve been following him since we arrived in Athens.”

Will’s lips curled.

“That’s why we came here, isn’t it? To watch Jack. That’s why we came to Athens at all. Not because you wanted to, not because you thought it was nice or fancy. Because you wanted to keep an eye on him.”

Hannibal looked up at him from where he was kneeling.

“You are correct.”

“I thought it was just ridiculous coincidence, but there’s no fucking way that could be true, and you know how I know that? Because you would have gutted me. If you hadn’t known, hadn’t  _ expected  _ to see Jack, you would have killed me if you saw him. Because you would think… would think I had…” Will trailed off, head jerking to the side, eyes screwed closed.

Hannibal had gone motionless.

“I would have assumed you had contacted him and conspired against me, yes.” He said quietly.

Will let out a long breath and shoved his hands through his hair. He’d forgotten his hat on the table back in the harbor.

“I heard he was in Athens while we were in Milan.” Hannibal continued, “I decided staying close to him and keeping an eye on him was safer than having him loose in the Mediterranean without any knowledge of his whereabouts.”

Will opened his eyes. Hannibal was still crouching, elbows on his knees, looking up at Will. His eyes were dark and unreadable.

Will stared back at him, chest heaving.

“I can’t…I can’t do this. I can’t…there’s no way to trust you. No way to know this isn’t all one long con, where you’ll end up killing me, playing me, cutting me into pieces just to see how I work. I thought…for a while we could be okay, but…we can’t. I can never know what’s really in your head.” Will’s voice was weak and reedy.

Hannibal tilted his head slightly. “Will…” he said carefully.

“I can’t trust you. How could I ever? How can I know?”

Hannibal got to his feet, looking at Will but still utterly unfazed.

“You can’t know for certain. You can trust me or not, but you will never  _ know _ beyond a doubt. Although I assure you, at this very moment, I have no plan in place for you. I have long since ceased trying to predict you.” He stepped closer.

Will took a step back, away from the advancing man.

“But you lie by omission, Hannibal. You play with me like a toy, and I…”

“Will.” Hannibal said, stepping closer.

“No!” Will snapped, stepping away again and holding up a hand, “Don’t placate me. You know I’m right. You love nothing more than throwing me out into the middle of shark infested waters and watching me try survive. I thought we’d got past it, but I completely deluded myself, didn’t I? Part of what you are is…” Will flapped his hand vaguely, “You’re like a housecat, you like playing with your food before you finally kill it. I’m not going to be your food, Hannibal.”

Hannibal’s face was growing darker by the second.

“You aren’t my food, Will. You haven’t ever been. You know that.”

“No? Well then I’m just your toy. Remember? Wind him up, watch him go?”

Hannibal’s lip twitched.

“It’s been years, but you can’t help yourself. You’re still doing it.” Will said. His voice was wavering and catching in his throat as it tumbled out.

Hannibal stood still a moment, turning his head to the side, not looking at Will. His one hand was flexing and relaxing seemingly compulsively. In one swift movement, making Will flinch, he turned back to Jack. He grabbed the back of the chair and dragged it across the concrete, making as awful screeching noise. He backed away from the butcher’s table and through a slit in the plastic sheeting, disappearing from view.

Will followed, pulling aside the plastic.

The section of the warehouse the sheeting enclosed was empty except for Jack and Hannibal, and about the size of the average garage. Hannibal was holding a small knife, gleaming and sharp, standing over Jack and considering him.

He leaned down, caught the knife in his collar and cut down his chest, slicing the shirt off him without even nicking the skin underneath.

“I’m going to go.” Will said. His voice was almost inaudible.

Hannibal’s hand paused as he made to cut Jack’s sleeve.

“What?”

“I’m going, Hannibal. We can’t stay like this. I wanted to. I wanted to  _ so bad _ but…you know what will happen. It’s already happened.”

Hannibal’s head turned.

“What has already happened, Will?”

“We’re so wrapped up in each other, we can’t  _ function. _ I…I get a fucking blow job from a stranger and you almost kill me. Then I killed someone and cut out his heart like a pig because I saw you…” Will grimaced and dropped his gaze, “Something is going to give, Hannibal. We’re going to kill each other, and fucking Christ, for the first time in forever, I  _ don’t  _ want to kill you. I don’t want to live in a world where you don’t exist, and it’s horrible but it’s the truth. But we can’t be around each other. I have to go, and I can’t come back.” Will let his eyes flick back up, and he sucked in air when he saw the other man’s face.

Hannibal had never looked truly  _ shaken _ before. But now, his eyes wide, he looked almost a decade younger. His entire face was a picture of disbelief.

“Please. Let me go. Let it all go.” Will whispered.

Hannibal’s face remained pained for a moment longer, then in the back of his mind, Will heard the rattle of chains echo in the darkness of a cave.

The open and vulnerable face fell into a shadow of indifferent distaste, and Hannibal’s face jerked back to his task at hand.

“Go, then.” He said, not looking back up at Will, “Take whatever life you believe yourself to be in possession of and leave. I have no further need of you.”

Will shuddered violently and his knees tried to give out from underneath him. He grabbed the sheeting to support himself. He felt like a knife, dug deep into his lungs, had been roughly jerked out, leaving him spewing blood from a ragged wound.

Will staggered backwards, righting himself back in the butchering area of the warehouse. He let his feet carry him to the door, and he slipped out into the late afternoon gloom of the alley.

           He was shaking violently, but a feeling of numb dread had enveloped him like a cocoon.

           He was, for the first time in years, free of Hannibal Lecter. And it felt like he’d been gutted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *edit* to those who are saying they 'regret reading this' because it's increasingly angsty....I promise; there IS a happy ending. I can't bear to not get my Hannigram together. So bear with me.


	9. Scylla and Charybdis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end is the beginning is the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO much for reading! Your lovely comments and encouragement keep me going! Hope this chapter resolves anyone's dread ;D

            It took Will half an hour to walk back to the condo, ensconced in a shroud of disbelief and terror.

Hannibal was  _ letting him go. _ He hadn’t been expecting that response. He’d half expected his proclamation to result in having a knife shoved in his liver. Before all this insanity started, when they were just two men crossing Europe on dead men’s passports, it had been a sort of unspoken idea that they were stuck together. Until death did they part, and even then, Will knew for absolute certain that Hannibal would be waiting at the gates of Hell for him, unwilling to let him go even then. It was comforting sometimes, knowing you were being held onto that tight.

But Hannibal had simply opened the door, pushed him out, and closed it behind him.

Will passed through the lobby in a daze, riding the elevator without consciously doing so. He let himself into the condo. He went straight to his room; he couldn’t look around at their shared spaces anymore.

Feeling strangely like he was dissociating with his body again, Will reached under his bed and dragged out his suitcase. He threw it open on his bed, hands shaking as he reached in and drew out the clothing in it. It was his light grey button down shirt, still stained with blood that couldn’t be shifted, with the gaping, jagged hole in the right shoulder that perfectly matched the scar. It didn’t smell of seawater anymore, just of fabric, but the memories seeped from it like a teabag in hot water.

Will had kept the shirt safely tucked away. Sometimes, he took it out and stared at it.

Folding it carefully, Will placed it back in the bottom of the suitcase and began to pack his essentials. He didn’t know where he was going, or what he would do. Once Hannibal had killed Jack, the only person who knew they were alive would no longer be a threat, and he was free to wander the world.

And wander he would. Maybe he could become one of those nomads, travelling from city to city, doing odd jobs for cash, and disappearing again without a trace. He’d leave the Maserati for Hannibal; no matter how much he loved it, it was more Hannibal’s style than Will’s, and it would be far too expensive to drive. He wouldn’t take any of Hannibal’s money with him.

Will left his case partially packed. He went to the kitchen, to the liquor cabinet and drew down the bottle of bourbon they’d been using for Old Fashioneds. He drew the cork out, threw it in the sink and went out onto the patio. He went over to the edge of the deck beside the infinity pool ledge and leaned on the railing. He took a swig of the bourbon, looking out over the early evening sea.

If he closed his eyes and let his imagination wipe away time, he could imagine the port as it had been two thousand years ago, three thousand years ago, more. A bustling hotspot of civilization and commerce in a barbaric world.

Will remembered reading the Illiad and the Odyssey in senior year at high school. The Illiad had bored him at that age, and currently he’d be  _ damned  _ if he’d let himself think about Achilles and Patroclus. He’d enjoyed the Odyssey much more, with one solid main character to follow, and enough action to keep an eighteen-year old him interested.

Odysseus, that fucking asshole, Will thought. He comes home after twenty years away and his love was still as bright and definite as it had always been.

But that wasn’t what had happened to Will. He’d done battle, lost all his friends in bloody combat. He’d tried to get to some semblance of reality, return to the life he’d had before, but the world had other plans for him. He’d sailed past the isle of the giants and survived, escaped the clutches of the cyclops. But here he was, day in and day out, stuck between Scylla and Charybdis, doomed to be bitten, chewed and swallowed every day of the rest of his life.

Will wandered over to the grape vine nook, where the goddamn blow job that had started all this anarchy had happened. He plunked down heavily onto the couch and took a large swig of bourbon.

Jack was probably dead by now, being meticulously quartered, cut into manageable pieces to be aged and eaten at a later date, organs frozen in little baggies. Neat. Tidy. Untraceable.

“I’m sorry, Jack.” Will said to the world at large, and sighed a huge sigh. “But…I had to.”

Will let himself slide sideways on the couch, his feet up on the arm, head on a sun-bleached pillow. The warm breeze was gentle and caressing, and after another few large sips of bourbon, Will’s eyes slipped closed and he passed out.

When Will woke next, it was in increments.

He wasn’t in his bed, that was for sure. And it was  _ cold _ . And windy. Outdoors, then.

But there was also a prickling hind-brain sensation of being watched, which had actually woken him up, and when he opened his eyes blearily, he saw why.

Hannibal was standing over him, holding the knife in his hand he’d used to, presumably, kill Jack. In the dark shadows under the canopy, out of any moonlight, his eyes were glittering black.

Will stared up at him, hands clenched into fists.

His eyes darted to the knife, held idly by Hannibal’s side, and then back to the shadowed face.

“Do it.” Will said, his voice a hoarse whisper, “If you have to do it, then…just do it.”

Hannibal’s face didn’t change one iota for a few seconds, then his lips twisted unhappily.

Will’s teeth were clenched together in anticipation, so hard his jaw hurt.

The scintillating black eyes flickered as they examined Will. Then, without any explanation or words exchanged, Hannibal exhaled sharply in almost a derisive noise, and left.

Will let out a shaking breath of tension and sat up. He wasn’t drunk anymore, and he didn’t know what time it was. He got slowly to his feet and dragged himself inside to bed. He didn’t bother with any ablutions, just stripped his clothing and crawled under the covers.

He tried not to think about where he would go when he went.

Will got up early the next morning. He snuck out into the kitchen, and saw the coffee engine was on and warmed up. At the sound of splashing, he looked up and saw Hannibal, or what was visible of him anyway, doing a smooth and effortless front crawl across the long span of the pool. Will grimaced and filled his cup with coffee as fast as he could, dumping the sugar bowl with shaking hands into his mug, scattering sugar crystals all over the granite countertop. Another splash panicked him again, and he ran back to his room, abandoning his coffee and the mess.

He didn’t want Hannibal to find him in the kitchen. Perhaps he’d had time to think, or was just waiting for the opportune moment to express his disdain for Will’s departure, and Will didn’t want to die in a kitchen.

Not again.

Will didn’t fold own his clothing. He sorted all his belongings carefully, laying aside the designer dress shirts and tailored trousers and sport coats Hannibal had bought for him at various boutiques across Europe. Anything he hadn’t chosen and bought for himself, he set carefully on the bed. He couldn’t take them- they wouldn’t wear well as he travelled, and they would only be painful reminders. And, more importantly, they weren’t  _ his. _

He hadn’t bought any of his clothes with his own money, but still, some of the articles were distinctly Will’s purchases. And he would need  _ some _ clothing.

The things he wanted to keep, he put haphazardly in the suitcase, mashing the pile down with shoes. He only had a few pairs; his Chuck Taylors, his Sperrys. His Birkenstocks he could wear when he…went. His toiletries were slim; he wasn’t much of a cosmetics man, and so only had to pack his toothpaste and toothbrush, along with his deodorant and some sunscreen. He didn’t have a lot of  _ stuff _ that was really his. He couldn’t take any of the soaps or hair products, because they were all bought for him specifically by Hannibal.

Will zipped his suitcase and took a last shower. He used as much of the products as he could, hoping to maybe preserve the rich and delicate scents on his skin and hair for a tiny sliver of the future. It probably wasn’t the best method for making a clean break, but, well… he wanted to smell like the version of Will Graham that had been so mind-numbingly happy until just recently. Maybe he could pretend to be him for just a  _ little  _ while longer, and remember what it was like to really know and see himself so crystally clear.

Will carefully got dressed in his most non-descript clothes, trying his utmost to look like a boring tourist. He combed his wet hair, trimmed his beard short, so the little puckered line on his cheek was just barely visible. He didn’t meet his own eyes, though, and knew no power on earth would be able to hold them there if he did.

Will carried his suitcase out into the foyer and placed it by the door. He stood there, perfectly still and clenching his jaw so tightly his molars ached. He knew he should say good-bye.

Good-bye to his life. Good-bye to the past they shared so horribly and profoundly.

Will let himself walk back to the kitchen, and was jolted when he realized it wasn’t empty; his ears had been so full of fog, he hadn’t heard anyone moving around until it was too late.

Arabella was standing by the island, holding a pitcher of what appeared to be mimosas. She was in an extremely tiny bikini, covered hilariously little in a black gauzy sarong. Her bright blue lapis pendant hung heavy between her admittedly perfect breasts.

“Stuart!” she exclaimed, beaming at him in welcome, “I was hoping you’d come out of your little hidey hole! Would you like a mimosa?”

Will just stared at her.

“Come! Here, outside, Theo was just showing me some of his sketches.” She waved him over and left with the pitcher, slipping out the sliding screen door.

Will felt a bizarre numb chill douse over him, starting at his head and working its way downwards to his toes. He hadn’t expected one last cruelty, but he’d known Hannibal long enough now that he should have. Numbness was his last defense mechanism available to him.

Will followed her out the door. If this was to be the last interaction they would have, so be it. He could carry it with him, as a memento of why he couldn’t go back.

Arabella and Hannibal were sitting side by side on two pool chairs, Hannibal reclining comfortably, eyes closed in delicate repose. Arabella was sitting cross legged, examining a leather portfolio full of charcoal and pencil sketches. She’d taken most of them out, and was poring over them like rare artifacts.

“These are incredible. You should have an exhibition; your proportions and sensation of movement are so perfect!”

Will stopped beside her, looking down at the pages and pages of drawings.

Some of the sketches were of Grecian statues they’d seen, of ruins and rolling landscapes. Others were of people.

Will recognized Margot Verger, posed as Athena, clutching her aegis to her chest. Alana, as she had been years ago when she and Hannibal had been lovers, tied to a stake as Iphigenia, screaming to the heavens as she burned. And (Will’s jaw clenched tighter still), Jack as Agamemnon, leering down at Will’s collapsed form, an arrow in his heel, pain etched across his face.

“You make an excellent Achilles, Stuart.” Arabella said, grinning and holding up the drawing.

“Thank you.” Will said, voice hard and flat.

“There’s more of you, look.” She slid aside a handful of papers, revealing the sketches beneath.

Will inhaled hard, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes flicked up to the motionless form of Hannibal, who was smirking ever so slightly but whose eyes remained lightly closed.

Most of the sketches were of Will’s face. Of him smiling, face turned slightly away, light caressing his jaw and cheeks. Of him asleep, eyes closed, lashes casting delicate shadows across his skin. Others were more powerful; Will recognized himself as he had been when he was in the BSHCI, fury sparking from his eyes and threatening to ignite the page. Of him after they’d been grabbed in Florence and brought to Muskrat Farms, Cordell’s blood trickling down his chin, defiance engraved across his features. Of him…after they’d slain the Red Dragon, smiling shakily but so furiously alive.

Will knew there was no way he was as beautiful as he was in those drawings. No one was, not  _ really _ . Except, perhaps, the artist himself.

“This one is my favorite, look.” Arabella said, pulling aside a handful of Will drawings. At the very bottom, she grabbed a corner and pulled it out gently. Will almost gagged when he saw what it was.

It was Abigail.

Her enormous eyes were glittering, her mouth mid-quiver. She was exactly as she had been that night in Baltimore almost four years ago now, when Will had rounded the corner in the dark house and seen her standing there. Beautiful, terrified.

Doomed.

Will’s eyes moved slowly upwards, his heart hammering wildly in his chest, finding Hannibal’s face. His eyes were open now, staring back at Will, defiant and daring.  Bile and rage crawled into Will’s throat like a writhing worm.

Arabella didn’t deserve to see her. To look at her. No one did: Abigail was his alone, her face, her memory, her soul, all attached to  _ him.  _ They weren’t for  _ her _ to just take out and handle.

“She’s so real. And so scared…I asked him what she was afraid of, but he wouldn’t tell me.” Arabella said teasingly over her shoulder at Hannibal. Hannibal didn’t look back at her.

Arabella went back to poring over the sketch. She kept speaking, but it was fading in Will’s ears to a mumbling drone.

Not taking his eyes from Hannibal’s, which bored back into his like twin drills, Will brought his hands to the drawstring of his shorts.  Arabella didn’t look up, and Hannibal didn’t look away.

Untying the bow, Will pulled on a tail and the long lace slipped loose from his waistband. Carefully winding the ends around his hands, still not breaking eye contact, Will lifted his hands and crossed them at the wrists, making a big loop.

Then, in one swift movement, he drew the loop down over Arabella’s head and pulled back hard, uncrossing his wrists and using his entire upper body strength to draw the lace closed around her throat.

The woman flailed, making a horrible gurgling noise as Will lifted her by his makeshift garrote. Her legs kicked wildly but Will was both taller and stronger than she was. Her hands came up to try pry the thin lace off her trachea, but Will yanked even harder, teeth bared in effort. One of Arabella’s hands reached out to Hannibal sitting across from her, begging for help.

Hannibal’s eyes didn’t even flicker for a millisecond. He watched Will, expression neutral but eyes infernal, and shifted back slightly away from her grasping hand.

Will barely felt her struggling. In comparison to Hannibal devouring the scene before him, dark and twisted pleasure pouring hot from his eyes like fresh lava, Arabella’s death throes were background noise. Will returned the stare, snarling and panting in exertion.

Arabella went unconscious, her body becoming a dead weight. She sank down to the pool deck, half on and half off the recliner. Will unwound the string from his hands, ignoring the throbbing ache and likely broken bones and strained tendons from pulling so hard. He threw the lace aside idly.

Chest heaving, Will stood motionless, eyes trained on Hannibal’s face as the other man rose from the pool chair. In just his swimming briefs, his sun-kissed skin glowed in the Grecian sun. He came over to stand beside Will, mouth set in contemplation, and then knelt beside the body at their feet.

Hannibal brought his fingers up and pressed them under the point of her jaw, then hummed to himself

“You’ve killed her, Will.” His eyes raked over the corpse. He stood again, and regarded Will plainly. His face was its usual mask, but his eyes were a swirl of both delight and rapture.

Will snarled at him.

“You killed her. You brought her here. You  _ showed her _ …” Will couldn’t finish that thought, “You brought her here to throw her in my face. To  _ show me what you could do to me. _ ”

“Did I make you kill her?” his head tilted, and his lips curved into a smile, “I brought her here to show you what  _ you _ could do for  _ yourself _ , Will. And? Can you see?”

_ See? _

Will launched himself at him.

Their bodies collided hard enough to wind them both, sending them flying backwards into the pool. They hit the water, Will’s arms tight around Hannibal’s arms and shoulders, and as soon as they were submerged, he fought ruthlessly to get his hands up around his throat.

But Hannibal was bigger, stronger and had a thousand times the experience. His knee came up into Will’s unprotected side, forcing even more air out his already screaming lungs, and before Will could even try regroup, they were twisted into a knot of straining limbs, Hannibal’s arms snaking around his throat from behind. He had Will in a sleeper hold and his legs were tight around his torso, ankles locked together, thighs squeezing so hard his lower ribs felt as though they were cracking inwards.

Will flailed, the disorientation of spinning underwater and having his body actively constricted adding terrified desperation to their struggle.

It was finally going to happen, he realized. It had been oddly delayed for a few months, but he really was going to drown this time, locked in Hannibal’s embrace.

But maybe that was okay.

Because this way, he could die like he should have, when he was so entirely and distinctly happy, and everything was  _ beautiful. _

Will went slack. He would let it happen. It would be cosmically  _ right. _

__ __ And then his head broke the surface.

Will took a huge gasping breath and flailed forwards with his arms. He felt the body that had been clinging to him release, and Will shoved away. He caught the edge of the pool with a hand, hauling himself to it, hanging from it and coughing hard.

He looked over at Hannibal, who was treading water. He was panting too, and blood was trickling from his nose. Will realized that in his wild flailing, he must have smashed the back of his head into the other man’s face.

They stared at each other, both gulping down air. The fight had been sucked out of them both. Hannibal broke their eye contact and swam closer, grabbing the edge of the pool beside Will. He pressed his forehead to the concrete edge, trying to catch his breath.

“That time,” Will wheezed, “ _ you  _ tried to drown us.”

Hannibal hauled himself up out of the water, turning and sitting on the edge. Will followed suit, clambering awkwardly as his chest still heaved. They sat about a foot away from one another, water pooling around them. Will’s t-shirt was sodden and clinging to him, so he pulled it off over his head and threw it aside with a  _ splat. _

__ __ Neither of them said anything, and neither of them looked at each other. Hannibal was, in fact, turned slightly away, his long wet hair obscuring most of his face.

Will’s hands made tight, desperate fists on his lap, and he closed his eyes tightly.

When he reopened them, he took a long, shaking breath.

“I’ve spent a long time thinking about this. About why we are the way we are. About you.” Will glanced at the other man, who was still looking away, “It’s taken me  _ years _ to start to understand. You aren’t…you aren’t  _ evil,  _ not pathological, not insane. You’re not a psychopath, not really. You…defy categorization, but that’s because you don’t belong on anyone’s list.”

Will took a deep breath and considered his next thought.

“When you were born, everyone, your father, mother, they crowded around and looked at you and thought they saw a baby. But they didn’t, did they? They saw something different, something bizarre and beautiful and it was beyond anyone, everyone. No one could actually  _ see _ what you were. What you are. You were this ingot of darkness, so concentrated and terrible, formed from the cruelest desires of mankind. You were…perfect.” Will’s voice choked, and he swallowed hard.

Hannibal hadn’t moved.

“You’re your own creature. You don’t deny it. You don’t deny yourself anything. You feed off  _ beauty,  _ not people, not animals. Your purpose is to devour the most beautiful things, the rarest and the sweetest. Everything you’ve ever done was in the pursuit of showing us, showing  _ everyone _ , how beautiful your world is.”

“In pursuit of you, Will.” Came the quiet response. Hannibal’s voice was stilted.

“I know.” Will whispered. He was looking imploringly now at the turned face. How badly he wanted to reach out and touch. “I know. You saw me and you saw something beautiful. In my suffering, in my misery, you saw beauty, and you wanted it. To devour it like everything else precious.”

Hannibal visibly winced, but didn’t look at Will.

“But then, eventually, you realized. You looked at me, into me, and you saw, inside that beauty, was something like you. Something black and hungry and previously unmatched. It was inside me, and you realized you weren’t alone. You were an extinct species, and yet there I was. And I…want to be that. I want to  _ so badly,  _ Hannibal. God, I do. I don’t know if I can, but I want to.”

Hannibal inhaled sharply. His face turned incrementally, so Will could see just a little part of it.

With a shaking hand, Will reached up and brushed the silver hair back away from his face, tucking it behind an ear.

Hannibal’s eyes were tightly shut, his breathing shallow through his mouth. Tears were trickling down his face along with pool water.

Will drew back his hand. He swallowed the hard lump in his throat.

“It’s been killing me. After having this, and then losing it, it’s been  _ killing  _ me. Every second I’m awake, every time I think, breathe, I’ve been in fucking agony. I want to kill everyone, destroy  _ cities _ , just for you, just to make the pain cease, Hannibal.” Will realized his voice was broken, and he brought both hands to his face, trying to smother the emotion seeping from him. “I wanted to know why,  _ why  _ I hurt like this. I’ve never felt like this before, not even close, and I wanted to know what was wrong with me.”

Will let himself glance back at the frozen, hunched figure beside him.

“But then I realized; I never loved anything until I loved you.”

The words passed between them, gentle but unmovable.

“ _ Will. _ ” Hannibal breathed, his eyes slipping open.

Then, they were looking at each other, eyes wide in disbelief. And once they made eye contact, it became impossible to look away.

“I know…I know you want to kill me. To cut me out of your life-”

“I did.” Hannibal said, his voice hoarse, “But I don’t. I can’t; not anymore. I could no more excise you than I could my own heart.”

Will was shivering. When he inhaled hard, his teeth chattered.

“I should hate you.” He whispered, and brought his hand slowly back up to Hannibal’s cheek.

The other man’s eyes slipped closed, leaning into the touch as Will brought his thumb gently across the arching cheekbone. He found himself watching the beautiful lips again, wide and smooth and so perfectly symmetrical, the cupid’s bow so deliciously angular.

So, as Hannibal’s eyes re-opened, Will leaned forward and ever so gently pressed his own mouth to the one opposite.

It was a sweet kiss, soft and warm. Their lips pressed gently against one another, sincere and heart rending in the immediate familiarity and sense of rightness that flooded from between them.

Will brought both hands up to Hannibal’s face, his fingertips stroking into his wet hair, cradling him, just as Hannibal’s hand came up to tangle in the curls at the back of Will’s head, the other clasping over Will’s and holding it there against his own cheek. Their mouths moved in slow tandem, slipping together and delicately catching.

Will angled his head forward slightly, parting their lips but pressing their noses tightly side by side, foreheads together. They gasped shared air, staring at one another.

Hannibal huffed slightly, smiling in genuine wonder, pulling Will closer to him.

“Many years ago, when Abigail told me she wished God would be kinder to her, I told her God was never kind to anyone.” He shook his head and laughed quietly, “But she told me I was wrong. She told me God had been unfailingly kind to me.” Hannibal brought both hands up now to hold Will’s face, mirroring him.

Will ran his tongue over his lips, unable to look away from Hannibal’s gaze, adoring as it was and outshining even the brightest stars.

“And she was right.” Hannibal whispered, “He gave me you.”

 

Will’s breath came out in a huff, but it was swallowed up when Hannibal surged forward, kissing him hard. Will heard himself whimper quietly at the force of it, leaning into the man across from him. As their mouths tilted together, Will felt Hannibal’s tongue lick gently across the crease of his lips. Will let it pass between; let his own slip into Hannibal’s mouth.

Their kiss tasted of fire and pool water.

Will dragged himself closer by the man’s shoulders, gasping briefly and then diving forwards again into Hannibal’s lips, sucking his lower lip hard.

Hannibal got the idea and placed his hands on Will’s waist, holding him surprisingly gently considering the fever with which he was exploring Will’s mouth with his tongue.

Will felt Hannibal’s thumbs creep in across his abdomen, touching the ends of the pink scar and stroking lightly. It felt like an apology.

Will groaned again against Hannibal and sucked on the tongue that was essentially fucking into his mouth. Hannibal showed his appreciation for this enthusiasm by pulling away briefly and latching his burning hot and furiously ravenous mouth onto Will’s throat.

He let his head loll back and to the side, clutching the man to him, his own mouth hanging open and panting. He was reminded abruptly of the scene his brain had made for him in the kitchen a few nights ago, when he’d come, entirely untouched, at just the  _ fantasy _ of this. But this… _ this  _ was so much better.

Wet open mouthed kisses and hot licks were being applied to his neck, following the groove of his trachea to his chin, back along to the hinge of his jaw, where Hannibal buried his nose and inhaled Will, humming in delight. His tongue licked out underneath the bottom of Will’s ear and across the soft, sensitive skin. Will shuddered, but out of pleasure and not the overwrought emotional upheaval he’d been quivering with before.

Will knew that this _ , this _ , was the thing he’d wanted. Killed for. Pined after. It hadn’t been the days of comfortable companionship; it had been the potential loss of  _ this _ that had torn his heart out, bled him. He’d wanted it so badly, but it had been torn into pieces before it could happen gently and easily.

But since when did they ever do anything gentle and easy?

Will felt the, for all intents and purposes,  _ devouring _ of his neck come to an end. He felt Hannibal’s breath puff across his water and spit covered skin, and his nose bump his collar bone.

Will leaned back, eyes wide and panting. He slid his hands up from where they were caressing the side of Hannibal’s neck into his loose wet hair. Their eyes met.

Will was surprised to see wariness there in the bright amber gaze. Caution, even. Hannibal Lecter looked  _ uncertain _ .

“Will.” He said, and swallowed. His voice was rough.

Will raised his eyebrows, worry now suffusing his own mind.

“What do you want?” Hannibal asked quietly.

“Anything. Everything. Whatever you…I want what we should have had for years now.”

Hannibal exhaled slowly, his eyes slipping closed. The caution seeped away into a look of utter bliss.

“Please.” Will moved his hands to his cheeks, thumbs brushing gently just under the delicately closed lids. He pulled Hannibal’s face up and pressed the length of their noses together and their foreheads.

He watched a smile split Hannibal’s face, and felt him press his forehead back, in the gentlest and more adoring head-butt.

Hannibal’s eyes reopened, glittering with imploring delight, and Will couldn’t help but smile shakily back.

“Will you…come with me?” Hannibal said quietly.

Will immediately understood what he meant, as he always did and always had, and nodded minutely against him.

Hannibal tilted his face forwards slightly and kissed him again, gently and sweetly, before carefully extricating himself from Will and getting to his feet. He helped Will up after him, then started back to the condo.

Will followed, heart a wild thing in his chest, but still somehow he was bathed in a stalwart and unshakeable confidence. He  _ wanted _ . And it was okay.

He watched the man in front of him, watched his measured steps. The toned and bronzed muscles that adorned his long lean legs. The breadth of his shoulders and the taper to his trim waist. The riveting way his oblique twisted against his abdominal muscles as Hannibal turned to slip through the screen door into the kitchen, accentuating the deep V of his breathtaking Belt of Apollo.

Hannibal was beautiful, and Will’s heart felt swollen and aching to behold it.

Will followed Hannibal through the kitchen, and he felt his stomach give an apprehensive jerk when he saw they were going down the little hall to Hannibal’s room.

When he reached the door, Hannibal was standing holding it open. Will looked at him, and he looked at Will. Then, purposefully, Will stepped over the threshold.

He couldn’t go back. And he wouldn’t.

Will walked to the centre of the bedroom. Every nerve, tendon, bone and muscle fibre was alight and humming with tension. He let his eyes slip closed, and tried to slow his breathing.

When he heard the door click closed, he slowly let his eyes slide open, and he looked back over his shoulder.

Hannibal was standing there, regarding him. Will didn’t move; he stayed stock still, watching only with his eyes but still facing away as Hannibal approached. He felt as much as saw when Hannibal was right behind him. His hair was still damp, and the smell of their shared shampoo wafted between them.

Will’s breathing hitched sharply when he felt fingertips, barely there, brush across the skin of his back and down in parallel trails to the very top of his shorts. They stopped there, then withdrew.

“Will you…?” Hannibal began, but Will was already turning. They stood about eight inches apart, head’s ducked. Will could see Hannibal’s breathing wasn’t its usual controlled meter, and it only made his own heart gallop faster.

Will watched as one of Hannibal’s hands came up and, slowly, reverently, he set his fingertips to Will’s chest, over his heart. He watched as the fingers traced along his sternum, then back across his ribs, dragging his long thumb gently under the bottom edge of Will's pectoral. The touch fanned and slid back to the middle, drawing down the centre of his abdomen until it reached the pink scar again. Four fingertips set along it, brushing the raised skin.

Will was most of the way to panting, his mouth hanging open. He realized one of his hands had, of its own volition, come up to mirror the motion of Hannibal’s, his own hand feeling the hard muscle under the soft skin, and the tickle of the hair on his belly.

Hannibal’s fingers splayed, and he pressed his whole hand over the scar.

Will glanced up at Hannibal’s bowed face and saw awe and emotion writ across it’s gorgeous angles.

“You’re…you’re beautiful, Will.” His voice was hoarse and choked.

Will let out a shuddering breath and dove forward, kissing the other man hard. He ran both hands through the curls of Hannibal’s chest hair, filling his hands with the perfectly formed chest muscles, up over his clavicles, neck and to his hair, clutching him close as he licked deep into his mouth. For his part, Hannibal slid both hands around Will’s waist, pulling them closer together until their bodies bumped together…

And they both gasped in aroused surprise when their clothed erections brushed. Will pulled his face back slightly, but pulled Hannibal closer, resting his forehead on his shoulder and looking down between them. Their arousal was plainly visible, in Will’s loose running shorts and Hannibal’s swimming briefs.

Will watched, eyes wide and chest heaving, as Hannibal’s hands slowly and reverently descended to his waistband, catching on it with his thumbs.

“May I?” he asked, and Will glanced up at him. Saw the blown pupils, and nodded. He couldn’t really form words.

And so, Hannibal pulled carefully at his shorts, already slung low on his narrow hips without their drawstring. Will’s cock sprang free, but his shorts had barely pooled on the ground before Hannibal pressed a large, warm hand over Will’s length. Will couldn’t control the shudder that escaped him, or the whimper that slipped from his mouth. In starving desperation, he dragged Hannibal’s face down and took his mouth with his own.

They kissed in a slow but aggressive fever, Will trying and failing to muffle his moans against Hannibal’s lips when those beautiful surgeon’s hands gently stroked up and down the length of his cock. Will brought both hands down and grabbed a handful of Hannibal’s butt in each, dragging him closer.

Hannibal broke their kiss after a moment or so, his nose still pressed beside Will’s.

“What do you want, Will?” he asked. His voice was gentle but hoarse.

“I want to see.” Will said, hooking his own hands into the waistband of Hannibal’s briefs.

Hannibal nodded. He took Will’s hands away gently.

“On the bed. Lie back. Please.”

Will took the one step necessary to reach the foot of the bed, sat and then reclined onto his elbows. He felt like he was simultaneously drunk and hyperaware, his eyes roaming over the exposed areas of Hannibal in a newfound fervor.

He was so rapt he barely noticed his own penis, curved towards his stomach and furiously hard.

Will watched hungrily as the muscles in Hannibal’s chest and arms flexed and twitched as he carefully undid the tie at the front of his swim shorts, his eyes devouring every movement. His breath caught when Hannibal nonchalantly pulled the shorts down, stepped out of them and threw them carelessly aside.

Will wasn’t an idiot, wasn’t born yesterday and wasn’t  _ entirely  _ heterosexual, that much he knew. He knew what penises looked like. But he’d never seen one he’d  _ wanted  _ like this before. He looked at the uncut and swollen length in front of him, heftier than his own by half, and he  _ wanted _ . Wanted to touch, taste…possess.

His eyes slid slowly up and met the ones that were likewise scouring Will's body.

He was somewhat surprised to see that Hannibal looked lost. Or at least,  _ at _ a loss.

“So gorgeous, Will.” He said. His voice sounded as rough as if he’d been screaming.

Will held up a hand in invitation, and Hannibal took it, eyes still roaming with an expression very like disbelief. He came closer, put his knees up on the bed and crawled up Will. He met his eyes, and the look became slightly less forlorn. Will drew him down into a delicate kiss, reveling in the delicious smell and taste of the man hovering over him.

But the kiss didn’t last long. Hannibal descended down Will’s chin, nuzzling into the crook of his jaw again and down his throat, still red and sensitive from earlier attention. He sucked  _ hard _ on Will’s collarbone, and Will knew there would be a mark. He  _ loved  _ that there would be a mark.

Hot, sticky open mouthed kisses travelled across his chest, Hannibal’s tongue twisting terribly and wonderfully over one nipple then the other. Will keened and seized handfuls of wet silver hair. His legs came up and wrapped around Hannibal, and the soft curls of hair on the man’s lower belly brushed along his cock, making Will’s whole body lurch.

But then the world stopped. Hannibal stopped. He had reached the scar, now as close to it as anyone had ever been.

Will looked down at him. He watched as Hannibal gently drifted his fingers across its slightly raised surface, like he had before, then slowly began to kiss it. Little kisses, soft and loving. When he’s travelled all along it, he sighed and looked up at Will. He looked distraught.

“I don’t… regret things very often, Will. But I regret this.”

Will shook his head.

“I don’t.”

Hannibal’s pale eyebrows rose. He looked back down at the scar and touched it again gently with his lips.

“Not ever. Not once.” Will whispered.

Hannibal relinquished his grip on the past and continued on his way, causing Will’s staccato heart to up in tempo yet again. When he felt breath ghost across his dick he let out a pained wail, and then almost screamed when a hot tongue tasted it, just briefly.

Will titled his head up. He wanted to watch. He needed to see.

Hannibal was nuzzling his cock, entirely absorbed in his task. His tongue, red, not kitten pink as Will had imagined, extended and ran along the length, stopping at the head. Hannibal glanced up, and when he saw Will watching, mouth agape, he stared right back and swallowed Will whole.

Will’s entire body jerked in response, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Hannibal swallowed him easy enough, tongue twisting and scorching against the bottom of Will’s cock. His lips, full and wide and impossibly perfect, stretched around him, and Will whimpered for the millionth time.

The look Hannibal was giving him from under his lashes, with pupils wide and black, wasn’t the wicked and manipulative look that Will’s brain had supplied before, under the grapevines, in the kitchen. It wasn’t delighting in his suffering, imposing its power over him.

It was love. Adoration, complete and irrefutable, was pouring from Hannibal. He was worshipping at the altar of Will Graham, beholden to only the God residing there.

“Ha…Hannib…” Will said, bending and trying to pull Hannibal up.

“What? What is it?” Hannibal said, mouth slicked with spit and pre-come, completely resplendent. The worry had returned to his face.

“I’m going to…come if you keep…doing that.” Will panted. He smiled shakily in reassurance.

Hannibal rose and pressed his nose beside Will’s. Will wrapped his arms around him and pulled himself closer. With his legs wrapped as they were, he ended up in Hannibal’s lap, his spit soaked cock now pressed against the other man’s. They both inhaled sharply, foreheads bumping slightly.

“What would you like,  _ vita mia _ ?” Hannibal said, one hand in Will’s rapidly drying and increasingly wild curls, the other splayed across his lower back. He dipped his head to the side and pressed his nose behind Will’s ear, scenting him.

Will rocked his hips, sliding them together, and once again they both gasped. Will pulled Hannibal’s face back and kissed him, tasting himself and Hannibal’s unholy mouth. It was blissful to say the least.

“I want you…to…you can…please?” Will said. He was becoming increasingly incoherent as he thrust, each slide of their lengths together whiting his vision like a close-by lightning strike. He was also quite sure he’d never been as hard or desperately aroused in his entire life.

“You’re certain?” Hannibal’s voice was calm by comparison, but his eyes were glittering and breath fast.

Will nodded childishly and kissed him again, fucking into Hannibal’s mouth with his tongue in hopes he would get the idea.

He seemed to.

Hannibal gently lowered them back down to the bed, laying atop Will, who for his part wrapped his legs back up around Hannibal’s waist and rocked his hips. The friction between them was hard and hot, and Will knew he was going to come if he wasn’t careful.

But he couldn’t. Not yet.

Hannibal’s hands framed Will’s face, his gaze loving and ardent.

“You’re sure?” he said again, voice barely audible. Will could feel the other man’s heart beating against his own chest, answering the frantic rhythm within exactly.

Will slid one hand down and seized one of Hannibal’s ass cheeks again, pulling him hard against Will’s body and dragging their cocks together. Hannibal made a quiet groan and buried his face into Will’s neck.

“I’m sure. Please. Inside. Please.” Will hissed through gritted teeth.

Hannibal tilted slightly, one of his hands leaving Will’s face to reach between the mattress and the headboard. Will whined at the loss and was rewarded with a flash of tooth when Hannibal smiled, nuzzling against his cheek and kissing at the corner of his mouth.

          Will was almost too hyper focused on the face above him to realize he was holding a small bottle of lubricant.

        Inside his head, he vaguely was aware he should be upset. Perhaps anxious. But all he could think was  _ please yes, oh yes, please yes, please, PLEASE. _

         Will spread his legs obligingly and clutched at Hannibal desperately. His fingers were leaving red lines and scratches, which furrowed deeper then relaxed when Hannibal gently pressed his lips onto Will’s, calming him.

         Will felt something cool trickling between his thighs and over his balls, making his skin erupt into goosebumps. The shock was abruptly banished when warm and gentle fingers brushed against his perineum then against the very outside of his hole, and Will groaned obscenely through gritted teeth.

        He opened his eyes, only just realizing he’d closed them, and blinked in surprise when he saw Hannibal, watching his reactions to being touched this way with a look like a man watching their firstborn enter the world, or a masterpiece being painted. There was no pretense or mask on either of their faces, just naked and unrefined desire, and fuck was it terrifying.

          Will lifted the shaking hand not still gripping Hannibal’s upper thigh to the other man’s face. He stroked his thumb along the delicate crease beneath his eye, to the lines at the outer edge, then back, following the crinkles, and then across the top of his nose where the skin creased when he smiled.

        “You’re…god, you’re beautiful too.” He said, and realized he was trying to swallow a sob of emotion.

         “ _ We _ are beautiful, my darling. You and I and all the things that we are.” And he kissed Will again, then slid two slick fingers inside.

        Will’s legs squeezed hard on Hannibal’s flanks then relaxed. The feeling was alien and strange but  _ oh _ , Will stifled a yelp when he felt the long dexterous fingers brush something inside of him that made his cock twitch hard against his stomach. He curled his body higher, making it easier for Hannibal to touch him.

        “Relax.” Hannibal said, dragging his nose over Will’s cheek, lips brushing ever so gently against the parted and gasping ones beneath. Will tried to kiss him, but succeeded only in breathing hard against his skin.

         Hannibal’s fingers slid in and out, gentle and slippery, nudging Will’s prostate ever so slightly. Will made in involuntary cry every time, digging his fingers into the flesh he was clinging to.

         “It’s… _ good, it’s so good… _ ” he mumbled, speaking directly against Hannibal’s cheek.

        “How perfect you are.  _ So _ perfect.” Came the response. Hannibal’s voice was still rough, and his eyes were almost incandescent with admiration. Will blinked up at him, and realized his own eyes were wet as well.

        “For-forever. We should…have been doing this….  _ forever _ .” Will could barely speak above a ragged hiss; his throat was completely choked closed.

         Hannibal nodded, and when Will saw a single tear descending down his nose, he surged up and kissed him, using both hands to hold him there. Their kiss still tasted of fire.

          Hannibal’s fingers withdrew slightly, and were replaced with three before Will could protest the loss. They fucked in and out a few times, spreading and relaxing gently.

          Will tightened his hold with his legs, body curling even more. Hannibal’s tongue stroked along his, teasing carefully just as he did with his fingers. Will whimpered again when the three digits just barely brushed against that sensitive spot inside him, and Hannibal swallowed the little sound with gusto.

         “P…Pl…” Will said, pulling away just enough to speak, “Can you, now…?”

         Hannibal smiled down at him. “Anything.” He laughed quietly and shakily, “Everything.”

       Will shivered as the fingers withdrew carefully, slippery and hot. He followed Hannibal up as he withdrew, leaning on his elbows again. Letting physical space between them seemed impossible and horrible to contemplate.

        He could see  _ all _ of Hannibal, kneeling between his spread legs, tanned and toned body glistening with sweat, just like Will’s. His cock hung full and heavy between his legs, the purple tip peeking out from beneath the foreskin.

        Will’s eyes studied everything in front of him, one hand coming up to touch at the hard muscle of Hannibal’s lower abdomen, brushing through the little curls of hair.

       “Will…” Hannibal said. Will’s eyes snapped back up. Hannibal was holding the lube in one hand, the other rested on Will’s thigh.

        “Can I?” Will asked. He hesitated, then held out his hand, palm up.

        Hannibal’s surprise was quickly swallowed by desire, black and roiling. He nodded, deftly popped the cap, and formed a little pool on Will’s hand.

       Will didn’t bother looking at what he was doing. He wanted to really  _ see. _

         He watched Hannibal’s eyes, staring back at him, and his mouth, hanging agape as he breathed quickly but quietly.

         He took Hannibal’s cock in his hand, slicking its length, and was rewarded with a full-body shudder. Hannibal’s face dove into the crook of his neck and mouthed hotly at the skin, clutching Will to him as Will continued his ministrations.

        But Will wasn’t done.

       He leaned back, pulling Hannibal after him with his free hand on his bicep. One of Hannibal’s hands came down to grip himself over Will’s loose fist, lining up the head of his cock with Will’s entrance.

         His eyes came up to meet Will’s. In them, Will saw the same desire and all consuming, painful apprehension that had plagued their lives. The pettiness, deceit, jealousy, hatred, manipulation and yes, death, was all there, laid out between them.

       But as Will felt the very tip of Hannibal’s cock enter him, achingly slowly, as they gasped shared air and stared into the eyes of the only person who’d ever known  _ all _ of the other, every sin of their past evaporated.

        Will let his hand be pulled away from where their bodies joined in hot, heavy perfection. Their hands twisted together and pressed into the mattress just as Hannibal pressed deeper inside of Will.

         It was  _ perfect.  _ The pain of it, the stretch and ache, was nothing, just background noise in comparison to the delicious weight and fullness he felt. Will’s mouth fell open in a silent, rapturous groan, squeezing Hannibal’s hand.

        “More. More.” He panted, dragging Hannibal closer with his ankles crossed behind the man’s back. His other hand had returned to Hannibal’s ass, clutching him deeper.

         Hannibal obeyed, thrusting in the rest of the way in one firm motion, making both of them moan. They kissed, sloppy and wet, gaze never wavering from the other.

        Hannibal was leaning on one forearm, and he brought the other hand up, still gripping Will’s, to frame the man’s face in his arms.

        “You,” Hannibal slid back slightly, then shoved in again, rocking them both, “feel…”

          Will clenched around him involuntarily, so lost in himself and Hannibal he barely had control over his body. Hannibal hissed and latched his mouth onto Will’s throat again.

           “ _ You feel more like home to me,”  _ Hannibal whispered, right into Will’s ear, voice quavering slightly, “ _ than anything else in this world. _ ”

           Will choked on a sob and buried his own face into Hannibal’s neck, hiding in his hair.

          “Let me see you, Will. Please.” Hannibal said. He sounded just short of begging.

          Will relaxed back, letting his head fall on the pillow. Hannibal stared down at him, and then very slowly smiled. It was a  _ beautiful  _ smile, without an ounce of hidden intent or pretense, and Will found himself smiling back. There were tears running out of the corners of his eyes, but he saw answering ones on the face above.

          “I think…I might have loved you for a long time.” Will said quietly. It seemed important to say.

          “I know I certainly have.” Hannibal shifted his weight, and their joined bodies responded, causing both their breathing to hitch. Hannibal kissed him gently and continued, “I’ve loved you, Will Graham, since the exact second you looked at me with nothing but vicious contempt in your eyes, hard and blue and unforgiving as glacial ice. I was doomed from that second forth.”

       Will brought the hand not holding Hannibal’s hand up to the man’s cheek, tangling in his gossamer silver hair. He kissed him hard and rocked his hips, grinding his cock against Hannibal’s stomach and sliding Hannibal inside of him.

        “Good.” He hissed.

         Hannibal beamed against his lips and withdrew from inside Will, only to thrust back in, hard. They both moaned into each other’s mouths, and continued to do so as Hannibal began fucking in earnest.

         Will reciprocated as much as he could, but he knew quite soon, as Hannibal’s cock glanced against his prostate, he would reach the edge.

           They couldn’t really kiss anymore, just gasp against the other’s sweat damp face, occasionally brushing their mouths together, tongues licking the other’s lip, teeth tapping together in blissful agony.

          Will’s free hand returned to Hannibal’s ass, trying to get him deeper. Trying to finally blend them seamlessly, as they always should have been.

          Hannibal angled a thrust, shallow and quick, against Will’s prostate, and Will keened through his teeth. He couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore, and his head was thrown back.

          “I’m going to…” he said, voice high and ragged, “I’m going to come,  _ please,  _ harder, Hannibal, please!”

         “ _ Come for me, Will. _ ”

           Will’s eyes flew open and he stared in shock at the face above him, framed in tousled silver hair… and saw only sincerity. Saw the love he knew was there, indefinite and cataclysmic.

           He came, cock spurting between them, holding Hannibal inside him with all the strength in his legs. He felt like he was dying the most perfect death, in the arms of the only monster he’d choose a thousand times over.

            Hannibal fucked him through it, eyes burning into Will’s, foreheads pressed together. He came hard, his entire body seizing, his thrusts erratic then not at all as Will felt him fill him, emptying deep inside. It was  _ glorious _ .

            Their mouths met in a panting, sweaty version of a kiss, all tongue and short, sharp breaths. Will clung to Hannibal, pulling him down on top of him, letting his hot, sweaty body press him into the bed. Hannibal’s mouth latched onto Will’s jugular again, sucking big, lazy kisses onto his skin, still so pale in comparison.

             Hannibal slipped from his body slowly and carefully, distracting Will from the stark absence with delicate nibbles to his thin skin.

Will turned his head and stuck his nose behind Hannibal’s ear. He smelled like cedar, like chlorine, like smoke and flame, blood and death. And love, oh _ god _ , he smelled of love.

Will smiled slightly as he felt Hannibal pull away from nibbling at his earlobe, and grabbed two handfuls of damp, mussy hair.

The messy, sweaty and beaming cannibal kissed his chin then descended down his chest without preamble, and Will watched, wide eyed, as he began to lick Will’s release, embarrassingly copious in quantity, off his stomach.

            “Of course you are.” Will said, trying and failing to sound weirded out.

           Hannibal just smirked up at him, tongue darting out to lick pearlescent cum off of his full lower lip.

          Will closed his eyes with a groan, then dropped his head back on the pillow. Just the sight alone was enough to make him almost want to get hard again, the only problem being he had never come as forcefully in his goddam life, and was probably out of commission for quite some time.

         Will waited while Hannibal…cleaned…him, then smiled peacefully when he climbed back up, laying on his side along Will’s body. Will opened one eye and fixed it to the man beside him.

          Hannibal’s lips parted again into a wide smile, displaying his terrifying teeth to their full potential. Will tried to temper his own smile, but failed.

          And then sat bolt upright.

          “Oh fuck.” He said, looking down at Hannibal, who raised one eyebrow quizzically.

          “Problem?”

             “Arabella. We…left her. Out on the patio.”

             “Your point? She is very much dead, Will. You were…remarkably efficient in that regard.”

            Will grimaced.

             Hannibal sat up beside him, and pulled Will into his lap, Will’s back to his front. He wound his arms tightly around the younger man and buried his face into Will’s curls at the back of his head.

            “You don’t regret it, do you?”

            Will was motionless for a moment, then slowly shook his head.

            “No…I’m…I don’t. Or…maybe I do. She seemed nice. She was smart and honestly in any other context I probably would have liked her. I…don’t feel  _ bad _ for killing her, but I  _ do  _ regret her disrupting us. You and I. She didn’t deserve to die for it. But she did.”

            “Well reasoned.” Hannibal was smiling into his hair; Will could hear it.

           “So…what do we do with her?” Will asked, looking over his shoulder. Hannibal’s hair was true ‘just fucked’ hair, and  _ Christ _ it was hot.

           Will kissed the sensuous and delightful lips.

          “Well,” Hannibal said, pulling away after a moment and tilting his head in contemplation, “we are going to have to relocate anyway, so I supposed we could do something…special…with our dear friend. Elevate her to a higher plane of existence…” Hannibal’s eyes met his, and Will saw a flash of the punning doctor who put on dinners for Baltimore’s elite for years, “…I’ve always heard the Spaniards made the best hams.”

         “ _ You’re  _ a fucking ham.” Will said, shoving Hannibal away but not actually really trying to. He was still too giddy. “Why do we have to relocate?”

          “Ah. Well.” Hannibal extricated himself from Will and the bed and rose to his feet. He was a spectacular sight, glistening and godlike in the morning light that slanted through the windows.

          “Hannibal…” Will said, narrowing his eyes.

           “I may or may not have induced a chronic psychosis in our old friend Jack Crawford and put him on a plane back to DC.”

           Will stared. And stared.

           “Induced a…what?” he said weakly.

          Hannibal went to his bathroom, visible still to Will sitting on the bed, and began a perfunctory cleaning of himself.

            “Psychosis. Using a psychotropic compound I perfected, combining LSD, MDMA, ayahuasca and peyote. Jack will be incoherent, babbling and entirely unreliable as a witness to anyone. For quite some time I’d imagine, particularly considering the amount I administered.” Hannibal shot Will a look, smirking delightedly, “And when he finally regains his old self, if he ever does, he will be the  _ only _ one who will believe his story of the two dead men, renowned killers both, who  _ just let him go. _ ”

             Will ground his palms into his eyes.

           “Okay. Fine.” He took a deep breath in and out. Then, he simply let Jack go. It was surprisingly easy.

            Jack had been a threat to them. Now, he wasn’t.

            “I thought…you’d just kill him and be done with it. Haven’t you wanted to for years?”

            Hannibal was still smiling as he returned. He took Will’s face into his hands and stroked along his bottom lip with one thumb.

            “I have. But killing him without you, Will, would be worse than never killing him at all.”

           Will leaned forward and buried his face into Hannibal’s warm fuzzy belly.

         “Ok. But why are we relocating? You dealt with it.”

         “I did. But…Athens is wearing on me. I’m in need of a change of scenery, it seems.”

          Will leaned back and looked up at the man above him, and his toothy Great White Shark grin.

          “Are you?” Will have him an eyebrow waggle, “And where are we going?”

          “Oh, I leave that up to you, Will.” Hannibal bent and kissed his hair.

          “Fine. As long as the Maserati comes with.”

          A chuckle.

           “Anything, my darling. Anything and everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vita mia: Italian endearment; loosely translates to 'my life'
> 
> Scylla and Charybdis: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Between_Scylla_and_Charybdis


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Theo Leprevost and Mr. Stuart O'Brien are cordially invited to the volcano festival on Santorini.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This extra bit is for the delightful and wonderful comments the fic has been getting, as well as for the nonny who wrote me such a lovely little note :) It's smutty and fluffy and emotional and murdery. Hope you like it!  
> Thank you for reading!!

Not much attention was paid to the two strange men that arrived at the Chtapodi Yacht Club on the Cycladic island of Santorini, on the evening of the Ifestia volcano festival.

They arrived separately; one by way of water taxi, the other in a vintage Riva Aquarama, about half an hour apart. The younger of the two gave his name as Stuart O’Brien, the other as Theo Leprevost. 

Their names were on the list at the door, alongside millionaires and billionaires from across the world. Not a second nor questioning glance was spared them as they entered, dressed as superbly as they were.

Both, however, were the subject of quiet comments regarding their general attractiveness and air of aristocracy.

  
  
  


Upon his arrival, Stuart buttoned his exquisitely tailored smoking jacket and examined the room as he passed through the doors. He inhaled deeply, an open and friendly smile on his face. Young women smiled back at him and tried to catch his eye; one even winked.

Stuart ignored them.

On long legs he strode through the crowd, which parted for him with no fuss or hassle. He gleaned a cocktail from a passing silver tray, sipping it and leaning casually against the bar. His eyes examined the antique crystal chandeliers, the Corinthian columns supporting a massive vaulted ceiling, the deep wine-red velvet hangings that sensually draped the alcoves. The room was one of soft and cushioned patches of shadow and light, simultaneously scandalous as a boudoir, and strictly proper to the last. 

Stuart settled in, content for now to just watch the swirling masses and absorb the sheer force of their furiously narcissistic existences.

He could wait.

  
  


When Theo arrived, he carefully pocketed the keys to the Riva and bounded up the marble steps with athletic grace. The deep blue silk of his coat caught the light of the flickering torches in a most beguiling manner. The striking angles of his face caught the spilling light as he approached the open French doors of the club, as did his smile, his sensuous lips parting over pointed teeth. 

The woman holding the list at the door flushed when he approached, smiling tightly to hide her reaction..

“Your name, please, sir?” she asked.

“Theo Leprevost.” came the simmering smoothe reply, his silvering hair catching the light from the chandeliers inside. 

“Of course. You’re most welcome, Mr. Leprevost.”

Theo entered the main room and paused to take it all in, eyes flicking from face to face. He basked in the humanity before him.

A tray approached his elbow, laden with cocktails. He took one and sipped it idly, eyes twitching from waxen smile to tight lipped smirk. All these people, all so false.

It took him only a moment of searching for his gaze to meet another, so different from all the others, it may as well have been from another species entirely. 

In truth, it almost was.

Across a crowded room, eyes the colour of the North sea in a storm met ones of the richest molten caramel.

Very slowly and almost imperceptibly, Theo inclined his head, and turned away to continue examining the room.

He smiled to himself, delight oozing from every pore.

The game was afoot.

  
  
  


No one who met the two strange men felt anything other than delight to be graced by their presence. They were both polite and bold, interesting and approachable. 

Mr. Leprevost was clever and intriguing, his charisma boundless. Mr. O’Brien was sharp tongued and quick to laugh, telling jokes and anecdotes in rapid fire. 

They never once crossed paths, always separated by a conversation, by a column, a crowd of people. 

No one noticed the invisible tether stronger than steel cable that bound them to each other.

  
  


“That is a beautiful suit, Mr. O’Brien. Did you have it made for you?”

“I did indeed,” Mr. Stuart O’Brien replied, smiling a dazzling smile at the middle aged Australian woman who’d been clutching his arm for quite some time, “There’s not an off-the-rack suit on this earth that fits like the ones my tailor makes for me. The man is a magician.”

“Mm, yes. And he does us all a favor in his decisive fitting, really, he does.” the woman replied, causing a tittering laugh all around the small circle. 

“How does a young man such as yourself come to be alone in the Cyclades?” asked a man in a ballsy pinstripe from Stuart’s other side, “I see no ring, so one must assume you are not married?”

“Oh, now.” the Australian woman replied, waving a dismissive hand while still holding Stuart’s arm, “Let the boy have some secrets, Dominic. We can’t all be as open with our lifestyles as you, my dear.” 

Stuart hid his flinch by setting his teeth and sipping his cocktail from the delicate crystal and silver filigree glass. His eyes flicked past Dominic’s reddening ears...and caught the eye of a man he neither knew, nor had ever seen or spoken to in his life. 

A perfect stranger.

The man’s superbly sculpted lips twisted slightly and his rich coffee-brown eyes flicked towards the back of the atrium, then met Stuart’s again, bold and bright.

Stuart turned back to the circle gathered around him, smiling in a endearing and open manner.

“Would you all excuse me for a moment? I’ve a call I need to make before it gets too late in the evening.” 

Stuart slid easily out from the crowd, dispatching the remainder of his cocktail on a nearby plinth. He glided effortlessly across the polished floor, hearing snatches of voices but paid them no heed whatsoever.

He didn’t look for the perfect stranger. He had no need to.

The back of the atrium opened into a wide hall surrounding an open air courtyard and water feature, with gnarled olive trees and palms. Quiet ambient jazz played from hidden speakers. Here and there, a few small groups of people spoke. 

Stuart crossed the courtyard, his bespoke oxfords making a solid tap as he did so. He stepped into yet another narrow hall, passing a man and a woman quietly arguing in Italian. He looked up and down the hall, paused at the fogged glass door to the linen closet, and then stepped neatly through the narrow door, closing it behind him with barely a click.

 

 

Will was pinned hard against a shelf almost the exact second after he closed the door.

“Jesus-” he hissed as two hot hands grabbed him roughly by the waist and shoved him swiftly away from the opaque door and then backwards, and said it again when an even hotter wet mouth dove into the crook of his neck and latched on just above his collar.

“Jesus has no place in our affairs.” came the grumbled reply, the sly self-satisfied smile audible even then.

Will grabbed at Hannibal’s tidily restrained hair and yanked his head away from his throat, seeking forward with his mouth and finding the other man’s lips. The kiss was vicious and hard, all teeth and tongue. Hannibal caught Will’s lip in his canines, and Will snarled in response, sliding his palms down over the silk of the suit jacket and grabbing Hannibal’s ass in both hands. 

Their bodies rucked together in the near pitch darkness of the towel closet, clutching at each other like they both were drowning and the other was a life raft. 

“Do you have any idea,” Hannibal hissed, holding Will’s face still in his hands, “How delicious you look this evening, you wretched little beast.”

WIll panted, open mouthed. 

“Yes.” he said, and licked at Hannibal’s barely in reach lips.

It was Hannibal who snarled this time. He spun Will around and shoved him against the shelf. Both his hands came down and almost ripped Will’s belt apart, throwing his trousers open and reaching in with both hands. He gripped Will’s quickly swelling cock in his one hand, the other splayed flat across the smooth skin of his lower abdomen, feeling every flicker of heaving breath. 

“Fu...fu...fuck.” Will wheezed, head falling back onto Hannibal’s shoulder.

“Have you found someone you would like to dispatch of,  _ Stuart _ ?” came pouring sweet and wicked from Hannibal’s wonderful mouth.

“I-  _ ah _ \- yes, yes. I did. Did you?” Will groaned loudly and reached behind him to grab at the man, grinding his ass back into Hannibal’s erection.

“I would very much like to skin that horrible woman who's been clinging to you all evening, touching liberally something that is very much  _ not hers _ .” the last words were hissed directly into Will’s ear, damp and filthy.

“She also makes-  _ unh-  _ homophobic - _ fucking hell _ \- comments.” Will tried to keep his voice steady, but Hannibal was making it very difficult by playing with the very tip of Will’s cock and smearing it with the clear fluid dripping there. 

“But?” Hannibal said sweetly, twisting and gripping a bit tighter, making Will grunt and grab a shelf with one hand.

“ _ But _ …” Will said, turning his head to see Hannibal’s face, still pulling the other man hard against his back, “She isn’t the worst of them. There’s a man -  _ christ, hang on _ \- named Andreas Elephtherios, he’s a fucking asshole. His mistress, she’s here, and she’s afraid of him. I think he beats her and I - _ Hannibal, fuck, christ-   _ noticed she’s got bruises on her arms and back.” Will moaned again and gave up trying to say anything when Hannibal’s unoccupied hand began descending below to cup and cradle Will’s balls.

“Does he deserve your wrath, Will?  _ Our  _ wrath?”

“Yes! Yes, he does. He does.” Will whined, lurching when a pinky finger was suddenly gently brushing his perineum.

“Very well.”

Hannibal stepped abruptly away, leaving Will clinging to the shelf, cock stiff and dripping. He seemed to be straightening his own clothing disdainfully, preparing to return to the party momentarily.

“ _ No _ . Don’t you dare, you asshole.” Will growled, turning to face the other man.

“Oh? Do you have a problem, Will?” Hannibal said sweetly.

Will was upon him in seconds, hands clawing away clothing with very little interest in maintaining their integrity. Hannibal let him spin him around, let his pants be more or less dragged off him, and when Will slipped a finger between his legs…

...there came a dark and annoyed hiss.

“You _ lubed and opened yourself _ before you came here? You’ve been walking around...this whole time...like  _ this? _ ”

“Yes.” Hannibal replied, breathing slightly faster after Will twisted his fingers inside him, “I wanted to be prepared for any eventuality.”

Will rucked up Hannibal’s suit jacket and shirt, baring his toned lower back and perfect ass.

He smacked one cheek hard and grabbed a handful of flesh, then leaned forward and muttered in Hannibal’s ear.

“Maybe I should take your pants and leave you. Make you follow me back to the party, bare and open for me, ready to be fucked. Would you like that,  _ Monsieur Leprevost? _ ”

“Maybe. I’m sure it wouldn’t take long to find someone willing to take me up on the offer, though  _ you _ may not like that as much.”

Will bit him on the side of the neck, sucking a dark bruise, and lined up his cock with the already slippery and pliant hole. He thrust in, hard and deep, and was rewarded with a hitch in Hannibal’s breathing.

“Weren’t we just talking about people touching things that aren’t theirs?” he snarled nastily, trying to contain his full-body shudder at the delicious and perfect feeling of being enveloped in Hannibal’s welcoming body. He would never tire of it.

Hannibal groaned and grabbed the side of the laundry sink with both hands. He arced his back sinuously.

“I belong to you and you alone, Will. You know that.” his reply was rough with desire and pleasure.

“Yes.” Will drew his cock out and fucked back inside the tight heat, hard. He stifled his own groan in the back of Hannibal’s rumpled silk jacket.

Will knew he wasn’t going to last long, not considering the adrenaline racing through his veins like epinephrine. They could get caught at any second (it wasn’t like they were being quiet; even the smacking of their skin together was obscene and loud), and they were here for one reason alone...to kill someone. Together. As the kick off to their world tour.

Will snaked one hand around and gripped Hannibal’s straining cock, thick and long and dripping with pre-come, the ample foreskin unable to cover the angry purple head beneath. As Will lovingly stroked it, the skin slipped even further back, soft and slick.

Will knew this cock well now. To say he had an affinity for it would be a gross understatement.

He began stroking in time to his thrusts,each snap of his hips brutal and decisive in their aim at Hannibal’s prostate. Sometimes, their love making was just that; gentle and sweet and slow and intimate. Sometimes...

“ _ Ah. _ Will…” Hannibal moaned, one hand flying up to catch himself on the wall behind the sink, “More.  _ Please, more. _ ”

Will had to close his eyes and concentrate on not coming right then. Hearing Hannibal beg, so sweet and polite, in conjunction with his name...it was kryptonite. 

Will pulled out, ignored Hannibal’s huff of confusion, and spun the man around. He attacked Hannibal’s mouth, sucking at his lower lip then licking deep inside. Will lifted him the few inches onto the counter beside the sink, rapturous desire and heat making it easy for him. 

Hannibal took hints remarkably well, and he groaned his appreciation, closing his legs around Will’s waist. He kissed back with ardor, full lips willingly devoured by Will’s.

Will lined himself back up and shoved inside, both of them gasping into the others mouth at the sensation and pressure.

Will resumed fucking, able now to simultaneously use one hand to stroke Hannibal’s beautiful cock,and the other to bury in his silver hair, now bereft of a tie, and plunder that wicked, cruel, spectacular mouth with his tongue. 

It was barely any time at all before Hannibal’s body was clenching and convulsing around him, cock spurting into Will’s waiting fist as he stroked him mercilessly through it. Will swallowed the deep and full body moans, kissing Hannibal hard even as he gasped for breath.

It was only after Hannibal was finished, that lovely pink cock utterly spent, that Will persued his own orgasm, mouth sliding down and biting Hannibal’s neck again. Hannibal clung to him, hands on Will’s ass as he pumped him full, head thrown back in debauched rapture.  

Will came deep inside, his whole body quivering with release, and all that was in his head at that moment was  _ mine mine mine, you’re mine mine mine. _

__ It was fucking perfect.

Will panted hot sticky breaths against Hannibal’s throat, and his fingers that had been gripping the man’s hips so hard slowly relaxed.

He felt a hand gently cradle his face and bring him back up to eye level. Their eyes met and Will couldn’t help smile shakily back. It was love. Love limned Hannibal’s eyes, made them twinkle in the darkness. Love came from every pore and suffused every breath. 

“I...I love you.” Will panted, surprised at his own confession.

Hannibal’s breathing audibly paused for a second, and then the hand on Will’s face was joined by the other on the opposite side.

“And I you. More than anything that resides on this earth, I love you, Will. No stride I take or breath I breathe, do I not take for you.” he pressed their noses side by side, foreheads together. He even pulled Will closer with his legs still wrapped around his waist, trapping Will’s softening length inside his body.

Will realized there was a tear leaking out of his eye too late, and he tried to dip his face to hide it, but Hannibal kissed it away with soft and loving lips.

“So much time wasted.” Will hissed, voice harsh and fraught with emotion.

“Yes,” Hannibal’s mouth spread into a slow and small smile, his head tilted a bit, “But so, so much more left for us.”

“All of it.” Will replied abruptly, swallowing and pressing his forehead harder forward into Hannibal’s, “I want all of it.”

“And you shall have it,  _ mio amato. _ ”

  
  
  


Mr. Leprevost and Mr. O’Brien re-entered the atrium separately, one immediately joining a group of party-goers and engaging in a conversation, the other flagging down a tray of hors d’oeuvres. A certain Australian woman told Mr. O’Brien that he seemed positively glowing, and that the ocean air agreed with him most spectacularly. Mr. O’Brien said he heartily believed the same.

Some time later, once the cocktails had flowed sufficiently, Mr. Leprevost was introduced to a Mr. Elephtherios. The man slapped him bodily on the shoulder and told him he’d heard he was driving a classic Riva Aquarama, and insisted he be given a ride. Mr. Leprevost agreed with little cajoling, though he mentioned that, what with there being few seats and the sea being perhaps a bit rough, his mistress was better off staying on shore.

“Hah! Better off without her, she will stay behind, absolutely!” 

And so the two left the party, unnoticed by all.

Almost all.

 

The docks were completely empty except for a few water taxi drivers, all of whom were smoking, playing cards on the deck of a small boat and paying absolutely no attention. 

The Riva was parked in among enormous empty yachts, dwarfed but never outclassed. She bobbed in the inky waves as the two men approached, Mr. Elephtherios speaking animatedly about his recent tax-evading scheme he’d formed in order to afford his most recent purchases of a racehorse and a Bugatti. Mr. Leprevost was amicable but silent.

“Ah. Here she is. A beauty! The perfect woman; speaks none. Haha!” he smacked Mr. Leprevost again on the shoulder and stepped aboard. The boat rocked as he did so.

Mr. Elephtherios ran his hands over the gorgeous mahogany dash, humming appreciatively as his fingers grasped the supple leather wheel.

What this meant was that he didn’t notice that Mr. Leprevost had not got on to the boat, nor did he see the shadow detach itself from further along the dock and approach on silent feet.

He looked up, beaming and about to say they take her out for a spin, and stammered when he saw the two dark figures, looking down at him from the dock.

“Hey? You want a ride too?” he said, laughing nervously.

“Me?” Mr. O’Brien said, a hand to his chest as indication, “Certainly. But if you would step out a moment, please.” he extended a hand and an open smile. “Please.” he insisted kindly.

Mr. Elephtherios looked at Mr. Leprevost, who was watching Mr. O’Brien with a small, strange smile.

“Ah. Yes. What is it?” he said, taking the outstretched hand and allowing himself to be pulled lightly up onto the deck.

The moment his weight was off the boat, the hand that had been holding his released...and clamped down hard over his mouth. 

He was spun hard and brought back against Mr. O’Brien’s chest, taking a harsh breath to scream, but was unable to. A knife, flashing silver in the moonlight, was suddenly visible in his peripheral vision, and the man froze. All he could see was Mr. Leprevost a few feet away, hands clasped behind his back, face stoic.

“This is the situation.” said Mr. O’Brien in his ear, voice calm and easy, “You are going to apologize for putting your dirty and disgusting hands all over my boat. I am going to remove my hand from your mouth for you to do this. If any sound comes out of you that isn’t “I”, “am”, and “sorry”, in that order, I will kill you. If you do as I ask, you may survive to live another day. Am I entirely understood? Nod, please.”

Mr. Elephtherios nodded, eyes wide, chest heaving.

The hand was removed from his mouth and the words “-’m sorry!” came tumbling out immediately. He stood there, panting, looking imploring at Mr. Leprevost. 

The other man, with his messy silver ponytail and increasingly amused smirk, examined him minutely, before his eyes left Mr. Elephtherios all together and looked past him, the the figure over his shoulder.

Mr. Leprevost smiled in earnest.

“So trusting.” came the soothing voice from behind, and then the knife entered his throat, direct and precise, severing his carotid artery. Blood left him in lurching gouts, missing the motionless form of Mr. Leprevost by mere inches. 

The gurgling screams died as quickly as they started, and Mr. O’Brien stepped gracefully away, letting the rapidly expiring Mr. Elephtherios collapse into a dark puddle of his own making.

The only sound after that was of the gentle waves and the hush of the wind in palm trees.

Hannibal was still smirking as Will pocketed his knife.

“ _ Your  _ boat?”

“Yes. My boat.” Will’s right hand was slicked in blood, but he ignored it entirely and straightened his coat and tie.

Hannibal stepped across the prone shape and pressed one long finger gently beneath Will’s chin, tipping his head up. Will’s eyes stayed trained on him, defiant and delighted, his irises dark and silver in the moonlight as he looked through his lashes.

“I adore you.” Hannibal said, voice just above a whisper.

Will reached out with the bloody hand and grabbed Hannibal’s tie. His exquisite lavender silk tie. 

He pulled him closer.

“Feeling is mutual.” he snarled, and kissed him furiously.

  
  


 

 

Blood appears black in the moonlight. This much is true.

But as the fireworks for the Iphestia volcano festival went off later that night, the sheen of blood on the dock was briefly red, blue, purple and gold, witnessed by no one, and only the background rumble of an engine fading in the distance could interrupt the silence.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chtapodi : Greek; 'Octopus'  
> mio amato: Italian; 'my beloved/my love'
> 
> Riva Aquarama: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Riva_Aquarama

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on Tumblr @ DisraeliGearsGoesTumblin  
> We can all be sad/rude/cannibalistic/angrily aroused by chest hair together!


End file.
